


All Beneath the Full Moon

by onkoona



Series: The precipice of Destruction [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Ritual Sex, Situational Humiliation, Sub!Severus, canon divergence after HBP, trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onkoona/pseuds/onkoona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Severus sneaks into Hogwarts, he quickly grasps what is about to happen. But, even if Harry is the instigator, does our young hero actually have a clue what he’s getting himself into? (Starts after HBP)<br/>Originally written for Snape-Potter's 2012 Big Bang.</p>
<p>Update note: It seems I messed up the original upload; there was a chunk missing in the middle. If you've read this fic before, you will have missed chapter 3. You may want to read it again, since it makes more sense with chapter 3 in it ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** All Beneath the Full Moon  
**Author:** onkoona  
**Artist:** ponderosa121  
**Other pairings:** Very brief mention of Harry/Charlie and Harry/OC's  
**Fic Rating:** NC-17  
**Art Rating:** PG-13 (NWS)  
**Word count:** 50k  
**Content/Warning(s):** (Here be spoilers!!!) Chan (Harry is 17), AU after HBP, ritual rape (dub/non-con), mention of past non-con, bottom!Snape, blood, whipping, violence, public sex/voyeurism, abundance of plot, appalling lack of juicy smex.*  
**Summary:** When Severus sneaks into Hogwarts, he quickly grasps what is about to happen. But, even if Harry is the instigator, does our young hero actually have a clue what he’s getting himself into? (Starts after HBP)  
**A/N:** This story was conceived before DH came out, it therefore ignores everything after HBP. Betaed by Severa Snape, SPaGged by Mom and rechecked, fluffed anf folders by the spfestmods. Spelling is British.  
**A/N:** Originally written for Snape-Potter's 2012 Big Bang. Ponderosa121 kindly gave me permission to post her lovely pictures with the story.

**All Beneath the Full Moon**

**Monday, January 12th 1998, about 10 am.**

The first thing he felt was his head throbbing. And the first thing he tasted was the unmistakable flavour of Skele-Gro in his mouth. It was only after he realized he was not lying in his own bed, not wearing his own bedclothes, that memory returned with a vengeance.

He had come at night to the Castle through the tunnel from the Shrieking Shack. It had been a cold and dismal January night; dark as death even though he knew it to be a near full moon night, but the dense cloud cover would not yield passage to even a single moonbeam.

It had suited him very well; he'd be spotted less easily by the Castle's occupants. He knew he needed to get in, retrieve the item and get out fast and unseen. And even though he owned no cloak of invisibility, like _some_ did, he knew how to use the right spells - hell, he had invented some of them; much good it had ever done him - and he was a master at moving about unseen.

Nonetheless he was seen the moment he stepped into the Castle proper and, almost as if he had been expected to appear in that place and at that time, he was captured with shocking ease by Harry Potter and his friends.

As he lay on his front with an almost fully grown man-child - Seamus Finnigan if memory served, Gryffindor, mediocre at Potions, some spark at Defence - sitting on top of him holding him down and with a silencing charm stopping his mouth from spewing his disdain at the situation, he spied the lanky figures of Ron Weasley, Colin Creevey, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Hermione Granger - Gryffindors all - standing behind the Boy Who Lived. They all had their wands out and they were all scowling at him.

 

The children's faces looked deadly earnest, which he recognized would spell nothing but trouble for anyone caught in their clutches, as well he knew from past experience. And worse, they all looked at Potter for guidance on what step came next, as if he was some powerful wizard Lord, instead of the teen that he was. Severus had seen enough of that kind of attitude in his life and it sickened him.

It was the look that Severus saw in young Potter's eyes that made him start to struggle against the bulky Finnigan once more; it was a look of determination that said 'do or die', an almost grown-up sentiment. Well, the one thing worse than earnest children were serious adults, and he shuddered with foreboding of what misery Potter's determination would put him through soon enough, as he gave up struggling against the Irish boy, finding him as solid as a rock.

"Let's get to it," was all Potter said before turning 'round and walking to the foot of the grand staircase in Hogwarts' entrance Hall. Severus found himself unceremoniously hauled to his feet by Finnigan, who moved to his left to hold him up by his left arm, twisting it behind his back painfully, his right wrist held in a firm grip behind him. He then felt a second presence on his right side - Thomas, Gryffindor, no future in Potions, passable at Defence - his right wrist was handed over and his right arm was also twisted behind his back.

No more words were exchanged as they marched him up the ornate stairs after Potter, with the rest of the grim fan club following behind. Both Finnigan and Thomas were nearly fully grown and just an inch or so shorter than himself. They were also prime human specimens, glowing with good health and even better feeding, neither of which he could say of himself. So fighting them physically was out of the question, even if his body was screaming at him to try. No, if he should fight here he'd just lose, as he had done when he had been caught not ten minutes earlier. However, he also knew that wherever they were going, once they got there whatever happened next would be Seriously Bad, but still, he could not see any way of preventing their arrival.

All he could do was try not to stumble and hurt his shins on the edges of the stone as he was dragged up faster than he could walk. He tried to keep his mind off coming events by looking around for a way out - any way out - but the Castle was cold and dark, and even the picture frames that lined the walls were uncommonly devoid of figures. Almost absently he noted that Potter had his ebony wand, which he had taken off Severus the moment he had entered the Castle, together with Potter's own holly wand and what appeared to be a flattened rolled scroll, stuffed in the right back pocket of his faded jeans.

The procession changed stairs several times in dead silence. Just as there was no 'life' in any of the portraits, there seemed to be no magical movement of the stairs at all. It was almost as if the Castle was holding its breath, its eerie silence amplifying Severus' anxiety.

As they ascended staircase after staircase and crossed landing after landing, they encountered no one, not even a patrolling teacher or Mr. Filch. Not even Mr. Filch's cat. They were finally let off at the 5th floor, where Potter resolutely strolled down the corridor towards the large doors that were normally not visible, much less standing wide open: the doors to the Room of Requirement.

Severus knew of the room, had been there once only briefly a year or two ago. That Potter and his cronies would use it now set his hair on end; that room could become whatever was needed and in these dark times, needs might have become very desperate indeed.

As they marched him closer to the entrance and Potter stepped aside so Severus could see the Room properly, what he saw confirmed his worst fears. Its ceiling was replaced with an open night sky, with the full moon hanging low off to the right, but shining bright enough to bathe the scene in an eerie blue-white light.

As Thomas and Finnigan made him come to a full stop, the other children, except Potter, went into the Room and each was given a dark cloak with a hood by Luna Lovegood, who wore an immaculate white robe, covering her from the neck downwards, tied with silver. After receiving the cloaks they joined the other children who stood in a large circle inside the Room. Severus recognized all the children as the current Gryffindor 7th years, most of the current Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff 7th years, a handful of current 6th years from those three houses and a few Slytherins, mostly 7th years now.

However, it was not the children that shocked Severus, it was the cloaks they wore and the circle they formed around an ordinary looking table and a contraption that most closely resembled a common but low-standing vaulting horse. What the table held was not ordinary - knife, bowl, ropes, bullwhip - and normal vaulting horses don't have belts and buckles on them. And then he heard the chanting:

_Nos vultus a angustus orbis._  
_Hic Veneficus futurus libere._  
 _Nostrum sententia es videlicet._  
 _Nos sentio ut unus._  
 _Nos reputo ut unus._  
 _Nos factum ut unus._  
 _Malum est licitus._  
 _Huic locus est possessio._

No! Ice ran down Severus' spine and his heart that had been beating a staccato rhythm all the way up the stairs now leapt into his throat; he found himself thrashing against the hold the two boys had on him before his brain had come out of the shock of realizing his situation. His body contorted between the boys, trying to get away desperately when he felt the silencing spell on his mouth break and he heard his own voice shriek out in an inhuman wail as a sharp pain, not unlike the Cruciatus, went up his right arm while he felt his lower arm bones snap.

The pain in his arm was excruciating and his thrashing made it ten times worse, but still he could not stop; he could not face what awaited him inside that room, not ever!! He had his eyes closed tight, his face contorting, all the while he still tried to get away from the scene; he had to get away! But there were hands holding him in place, so many hands, and try as he might he could not pull loose and his arm burned with pain and his throat burned with screaming and his ears burned with the loud noises that he didn't realize he himself was producing and people were shouting around him and at him and... And then someone shouted _'Inscius!'_ and yellow Spell Fire hit him and the world winked out.

 

 

oqpodboqpo

Severus fought his way to consciousness, shucking off the overwhelming fear in the returning memory first; then he shuddered with the memory of his own behaviour in the face of that fear. And in front of so many students – ex-students of his - too! How would he ever live this down?

It was then that he noticed the unmistakable bitter taste of Skele-Gro in his mouth and he took stock of his situation. He found he was lying in a canopied bed, with its curtains closed, consistent with any standard Hogwarts bed. But it was not his own - nor could it have been; his was most probably destroyed when people found out he had 'murdered' the Headmaster, along with all his other things. He couldn't help feel a stab at that; he had worked hard over the years to acquire rare books and potion ingredients, not to mention his research notes, and now it was all gone, as though it had all been so much dross.

He lifted his right arm to look closer at his attire and felt it was weighted down. Then a memory of fire in his arm stirred. He quickly pushed up the pyjama sleeve with his left hand and was not at all surprised to see a plaster cast spanning from just under his elbow to half way up his hand. It explained the taste of Skele-Gro in his mouth and it fitted with the memory.

He tried to wiggle his fingers but nothing happened. A bad break, was his conclusion. Treatment: two days of Skele-Gro and one week of rest; it was the standard treatment after setting the bone, or bones in this case, and putting them in a cast, of course.

Apparently someone had taken the trouble of treating him for the injury, but he wasn't altogether sure that that was a positive thing. They seemed to want him whole for whatever it was they wanted from him. He pretended to himself he didn't know what that was and he knew he would stubbornly continue to do so for as long as he could. It would not be for very long, he suspected.

He scrambled to sit up. Being hampered by having his right hand and forearm in a cast made the process more awkward than it should have been, and he accidentally disturbed the curtains on his left. He also found that behind the curtains on his right was a very hard, cold, stone wall, much to his elbow's displeasure.

"Professor, are you awake? Harry would like to speak with you," came from the other side of the left-hand curtain. The voice had been female and Severus was pretty sure that it had been the dreamy sing-song of Luna Lovegood - Ravenclaw, oddly gifted at both Potions and Defence, if she only could keep her mind on the subject - and not at all whom he wanted to see at this exact moment.

He lay quite still and for a moment he was worried she might open the curtain and peer in and see him in his - not his; they were god-knew who else's - jammies! But he breathed out in relief when he heard her say, "There is a dressing gown on the end of the bed. And I can get you breakfast if you like."

He sat up further and indeed found an old dark green dressing gown by his feet.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood, I would like breakfast," he said, sounding as calm and collected as he could manage. His calm eroded a little as Lovegood didn't acknowledge his request, and he could still feel her presence on the other side of the curtain, indicating she had not gone to fetch anything.

He drew in a deep breath and added, "And I will talk to Potter, if that is what he wants." It had sounded a lot more resigned than he had intended. He cursed the bad night past and indeed all the nights, all bad, that had gone before it for the last seven months since... Don't think about that, just don't!

"All right, Professor," Lovegood sing-songed, startling Severus out of his thoughts. He was mortified that he had not realized she still hadn't moved. But now he felt her presence move away and he felt safe to exhale.

He shored up his resolve not to make that kind of mistake in front of Potter; he wouldn't be able to afford to; they were officially enemies after all.

 

 

oqpodboqpo

When he opened the curtains, after he had shouldered on the dressing gown, checking the pockets for his talisman but finding it empty, Severus saw a row of room-high bars about five feet out in front of the bed and a shimmering magical privacy screen another five feet beyond that, which spanned the width and height of the room, effectively sealing of this part of the stone room. Not too surprising; his captors had gone to the trouble of patching him up, they would likely keep him where he couldn't disappear on them, now wouldn't they?

He looked out to his left and right before attempting to leave the bed. On his right stood a simple table with a straight-backed chair. He could see there was a large window set in the small wall beyond the table, showing an uncommonly clear sky for the time of year. To the left there was less to see. There was no furniture on the inside of the bars that he could detect from that angle, but he could see the far left wall was closer to the head end of the bed than the far right wall. There was a single chair with an open book face-down on it, between the bars and the barrier. It looked like the bars with the privacy barrier beyond and the wall behind the bed were the largest sides of the room: his cell for now, with some comforts, it seemed. And a seat for his jailer, at the moment unoccupied.

The only thing of interest on the left was the existence of a door in the row of bars. And it was of minor interest only; there was a large padlock on the door. Nonetheless, he slipped out of the bed, stepped into the slippers that he was surprised but grateful to find on the wooden floor by the bed, and, wrapping the dressing gown around him with an unconsciously theatrical swoosh of material, he headed towards the door, tying the belt as he went.

Three strides brought him to the door and he tentatively stretched out a hand towards one of the bars. Even before his hand made contact with the steel he could feel the magic pouring off it. It had that sluggish feel of old magic; the kind of passive magic that house-elves use or the result of centuries of powerful wizard-strengthened protective wards. It felt almost like a homecoming as Severus recognized the magic as that of Hogwarts itself.

He dropped his hand. Ordinarily he'd have a go at the padlock; even without his wand he was sure could pick a lock like that, given enough time. But Hogwarts had been his home for so many years, and to try and break a spell of its making just felt wrong. And he was pretty sure it wouldn't do him much good anyway. Even if he broke out, the only way out of this space was through that barrier, and he had not an inkling of what lay beyond it. Anyway, he knew why he was here and breaking out would not negate the horrible necessity of that situation.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the shimmering of the barrier more to the right. He looked up to see a tray full of breakfast fare appear, followed by the hands that carried it, then the arms and finally Lovegood's whole dreamily smiling person. He monitored her movements as she walked straight onwards towards the table, unmindful of the bars in her way which seemed to not affect her at all, only to deposit the tray and then retreat back to the space between the barrier and the bars.

Frowning, just to check, Severus touched the bar nearest himself. Solid. It drummed with magic, but it was fully tangible and it _would_ stop him leaving the cell. Magic then. A magical trick that made the bars solid for him, yet non-existent for her; the perfect jailer's charm. Grudgingly Severus applauded the wizard who had invented the spell to create the bars.

"Good morning, Professor," Lovegood greeted him as she walked towards him, stopping at the chair with the book. Severus idly noted she was wearing her school uniform as she picked up the book, seated herself with her legs crossed and turned the open book upside down before she started to read. Severus knew better than to comment; she always had a convincingly delivered explanation for any of the strange things she did, but on closer inspection they never held water. So he had long since learned to tune that part of her out. That, along with the powerful magical spill that flowed from her magic core in a near constant steam. It both attracted and repelled him at the same time and as a consequence made him feel uncomfortable around her.

He moved away without returning her greeting, just thinking he could use a morning pit stop about now when he spied a door opposite the door in the bars, in the wall next to the head of the bed. He was sure it hadn't been there when he had walked away from the bed to inspect the lock. He went to the door, tried the knob, opened it and was presented with a tiny but serviceable loo. Without further ado he made use of it, making sure to lock the door for privacy, so no one could see him cope with only one hand available.

 

 

oqpodboqpo

Severus made sure he had a full view of the barrier while he had his breakfast. The full English was decimated in short order; he hadn't had good Hogwarts food in many months and he wasn't about to leave a crumb of it. And even with having to alternate between cutting (mushing really) with the blunt knife and spearing with the dull fork, because he still couldn't use his right arm, the food disappeared fast enough. He especially enjoyed the contents of the Ever Lasting coffee pot and was on his third cup when the barrier shimmered.

He kept his gaze neutral - which he knew came across as sinister - as he saw the figure of Harry Potter step through. The boy had apparently not gone through the growth spurt his class mates had, or at least not so dramatically. Severus estimated him at 5" 7', but where his fellow males were thin and had not yet acquired the muscles to fit their new heights, Potter was more stockily built, with strong shoulders and stout legs. It suddenly struck Severus that this young man looked nothing like his father; he had been tall and lanky at this age, not nearly looking this grown up. Now the the question was: was Potter as grown up in mind as he was in body?

Severus continued his appraisal by noting Potter wore Muggle trousers - jeans - with a woolen sweater under his school robes. And he was looking down at the ground, with his hands clasped in front; one foot was trying to dig a hole in the wooden floor. Ah, the Brat was nervous. Not so grown up after all, Severus thought gleefully; despite being the one behind the bars he'd have a chance at gaining the upper hand. He was well aware he'd need it. Desperately.

"Mr. Potter," Severus started in his best Head of House voice.

"Professor," Potter spoke at the exact same moment.

An uncomfortable silence fell, which Severus was perfectly happy to let continue indefinitely. But then Potter, ever the Gryffindor, tried again; "Professor, I, uh, I'm sorry for what happened."

That had Severus' eyebrows climbing; Potter actually apologized? That had to be investigated.

"For what in particular are you apologizing?" he sneered, sitting forward on the chair, placing the empty cup on the table before him.

"Well, uh, for, uhm, what happened last night," Potter stammered, wringing his hands, head still down.

_Oh bugger, the child can't say it, can't even look Severus in the eye; not a good beginning. It was looking like he was going to have to do all the work himself, didn't it. First thing: gather information._ To that end Severus needled some more.

"And what, pray tell, was 'last night' about?" He used his patented sneer #2, for added impact.

"We, uh, well," at this point Potter sighed and dug out a scroll out of the back pocket of his jeans; most likely the same scroll Severus had seen there the night before. Potter took a stride forward and utterly unmindful of the bars between them, he held out one end close enough for Severus to take it, which he did.

As Potter stepped back, Severus sat back in his chair and, holding the scroll by the top in his left hand he shook it, as you would a piece of crumpled clothing, so it unrolled to its full two feet length. He started reading it.

"Miss Granger wrote this?" was his first question. Severus didn't bother listening to the answer; the handwriting was indisputably hers. The content was oddly formatted for what it was: a magical ritual. But instead of using the prescribed format, Granger had written it out in a series of instructions to those involved. And what Severus was holding was clearly the copy for the dominant participant, Potter himself, as it lacked the chant instructions for the Circle. Severus could not suppress a shudder as he thought of the Circle and its chant.

And he quickly found he could not stop from reacting to the rest of the instructions, even if they were utterly misguided and inappropriate. This event was necessary, he knew, and no amount of revulsion would get him out of it. But not like this; not with what was written here.

"What references did Miss Granger use?" Severus asked and then looked up at Potter, who was still standing there as if he were the prisoner and not Severus. The look would have struck him as funny if it weren't for the dreaded things to come.

"Uh, I'm not sure. I can go ask her?" Potter suggested, his face hopeful with the prospect of leaving his vicinity, no doubt. Severus waved him away and went back to reading the rest of the scroll.

He was halfway down his third reading of it when he was roused by the removal of the breakfast tray - "Leave the coffee!" he demanded - and the appearance of a stack of books. He looked up only to see Lovegood turn away with the tray in hand and walk off though the barrier, and Potter resume standing in the same location he had before.

"Sir, I," Potter started but stopped when Severus waved him away impatiently. Severus paid him no more mind as he started inspecting the books; Potter's presence or absence was unimportant.

 

 

oqpodboqpo

After going through Granger's source material thoroughly - all neatly bookmarked, with notes in a separate notebook, obviously pilfered from the school supplies - Severus came to the conclusion that she had done the best with what she had. It was just inconvenient - and almost his misfortune - that what she had was sorely lacking and the results reflected that vividly. This ritual would never have worked on a human being, because it was merely an intelligent attempt at rewriting a ritual that had an object at the centre, and not a person. And it irked him that they had tried to use him as the focus, as the object, in their attempt. But the anger quickly faded; he knew they had tried everything else, every other avenue, he knew they were desperate. And he also knew who had given them the idea of attempting this particular ritual. He would gladly have rung that person's neck, if it wasn't for the fact that he was already dead, and by Severus' own hand.

The thought cooled his ire more and he decided to stick to the business at hand. He'd need to do some rewriting. It was only after he had thought that that he realized the breakfast table had, without his seeing it, changed into a study desk, with a narrow flat surface, where quill and ink sat next to the coffee pot and his cup, and a slanted surface good for writing. The reference books sat on a ledge that was attached to the right of the desk, ready to be used. Well, that cleared up one mystery; he was obviously still in the Room of Requirement, or else the wish in his thought would not have materialized so promptly. Not that it was important in any way whatsoever.

The desk held several sheets of empty parchment; no doubt more would appear when needed. He changed the position of the chair so he was sitting in front of the desk properly and stretched out his hand to grasp the quill. And then he realized that with his hand still mending, there was just no way he'd be able to write with it. So he tried again with his left hand. Once, in 4th year in school, he had been so bored that he had spent a few days learning to write with his left hand. He had become quite good at it, but not with a quill; writing with a quill needed more practice and he'd never made time for it after those few days.

But the Room of Requirement wouldn't be the Room of Requirement if it didn't respond immediately with the appearance of a nicely sharpened pencil in the pen tray at the top of the desk, right next to the ink bottle. Severus picked it up, not caring in the least what sophisticated piece of magic had been at work, and started writing.

Some 40 minutes later he put down the pencil and re-read the ritual's instruction one last time. He had used the format Granger had used, so everybody involved would not have to learn something new - god forbid they should learn anything new - and thus hold things up yet more. Tonight was the peak of the full moon. This was the best night for it; it had to be tonight. Now, all he had to do was convince Potter...

 

 

oqpodboqpo

After he had crossed all the t’s and dotted all the i’s and he had spent a long time just staring at the graphite-covered parchment, he knew he couldn't stall any longer, no matter how much he wished to. He looked up to where he had seen Potter last, but was not surprised to see the space empty; children were not known for their patience and he vaguely recollected dismissing Potter with a wave anyway. He then looked over the 'jailer's chair', as he thought of it, and was unsurprised to see Lovegood sitting there, reading her book upside down. When he informed her he wanted to speak to the boy, she hopped off the chair and crossed the barrier swiftly.

When he appeared, Potter looked exactly as he had not an hour ago, with one notable difference: he now looked straight into Severus' face. Severus wondered what had happened to make the boy so brave. He decided to try to stare the child down.

"What is it?" Potter asked at last, obviously irritated at the long interval.

Severus held up the new scroll for Potter to take. "I've looked at Miss Granger's work and made a few corrections," he said in a surprisingly steady schoolmaster tone.

"If," he started, stopping Potter in mid-motion as he was reaching out to take the scroll, making him look up at his former teacher. "If these instructions were used, the ritual could work. And if," he started again, letting Potter have the scroll and sitting back in his chair, "you promise me one thing, I will consent to take part in it." There, he'd said it. Let it all go down as it must. Severus held his breath as he waited for Potter to assimilate what he had said.

The boy stood there frowning for some moments, his hands wrapping around the scroll obsessively but not crushing it, looking at a point far away past Severus' right shoulder. At last the boy's eyes refocused on him and he asked, "What 'one thing'?"

"I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever."

 

 

oqpodboqpo

Severus sat at the reverted-back table, sipping coffee for some time. After Potter had left, taking the scroll with him but without giving his answer, Lovegood had reappeared and had retaken her seat and book silently. Severus was glad of the silence - he hated noise at the best of times - even though it left him utterly alone with his now unpleasant thoughts. Try as he might, he could think of nothing but the ritual: if it would happen at all, how it would go if it did, everything that could go wrong, and what came after. No, what came after wouldn't matter, just as long as the ritual was successful.

His churning thoughts made him get up and take the few steps towards the single window to the right, cup still in hand. He leaned against the stone window frame as he looked out. Outside was a sunny day with perfectly white cottonwool clouds in the sky, the sun shining merrily on the green around the Castle, while children played in the Castle's courtyard. It was an utter lie of course, a Room of Requirement induced fantasy. It was January for god's sake, and Severus knew the weather forecast for the week had been dismal. But even as he thought those thoughts, the idyllic picture stayed the same, clearly indicating that the room was not showing this for him, but for someone else. He wondered briefly who would be helped with a fantasy like this.

"Sir?"

Severus was startled out of his thoughts. He looked up sharply to see Potter stand there with an earnest look on his face, and gave him an annoyed look back. From the corner of his eye he saw that Lovegood's chair was again empty, giving them some privacy. Severus assumed that whatever Potter wanted to say would require such privacy, making him seriously not want to hear it.

"'Mione said..." Potter started, then paused briefly before he tried again, "Sir, how many times have you taken part in this ritual?"

Severus closed his eyes. Granger had always been very astute. That she should have guessed and then had told Potter did not bear thinking about. But now that they knew, it wouldn't matter anymore; he might as well speak the truth.

He opened his eyes, looked straight into the boy’s emerald green eyes and said, "Six times."

At that answer the boy's entire demeanour changed; he rose to his full height, such as it was, balled his fists and his face showed a grim determination.

"You have my word that this shall be the last time," Potter said before stepping back through the barrier.

 

 

oqpodboqpo

It wasn't long after Potter had left before the brat was back and this time with more practical questions. He had brought a chair of his own and had waved at Lovegood, who left with a disgustingly dreamy smile on her face.

"Why is she even here?" Severus found he couldn't stop from asking, sounding grouchy even to his own ears. It didn't improve his mood any that Potter's mouth curved in a smile, even if the boy hid it behind a hand as he sat down.

"Well, you should know; you used her in your instructions just as 'Mione did," the boy blithely commented, now with a perfectly straight face. Drat. Potter was right, of course; in the ritual having a person with Lovegood's steadying aura would be a great help and Severus knew well enough that having her meditate near the participants before the ritual would enhance the effect even more.

Severus chose to change the subject by demanding why the boy was back. And then his heart sank at the answer; Potter wanted to 'go through' the ritual instructions with him. _The blasted child wasn't just happy with his consent to take part in his own humiliation, no, he wanted to rehash every sorry detail too!_ As fast as Severus' anger flared up it deflated; going through the instructions beforehand would ensure everything was clear and workable when the time came. With an annoyed sigh he sat back in his chair and with a flick of a finger he indicated the boy to start his questions.

"Uh," the boy started to say before he had even rolled out the scroll. Severus just itched for a chance to slap that annoying “uhmming” and “ah-ing” out of the child. But he refrained; now did not seem to be the moment.

Potter seemed to scan the scroll for notes, then at last he said, "Well, firstly, Dean wanted to know, uh, how tight it should be."

"As tight as he can make it," Severus answered flatly. Potter looked up at that, surprise mingled with worry clearly visible in his bright eyes. Oddly, it made Severus squirm at the notion it might be directed at him.

"Wouldn't that be, uh, uncomfortable, Sir?" Potter asked and Severus had to work seriously at not hitting the boy upside the head.

"This situation is hardly going to comfortable for me, Potter," he drawled instead, really enjoying the way the boy turned pale and cast his eyes down. _Point to Severus Snape; much good it would do him._

"We must do what is necessary, not what is comfortable," he added to soften the blow, after he remembered that Potter hadn't really asked to be in this situation either. "'Tight' is necessary, tell Mr. Thomas that," he instructed and let out an inaudible breath when Potter made a note on the parchment.

The boy quickly moved on. "It says here 'Use Spectatis Auras potion, or similar'. Hermione couldn't find any recipe for any kind of Aura seeing potion. She did find a spell, would that do?"

Severus let out a frustrated sigh. _What were they teaching these kids in school and what did the kids bother to remember, if anything? This was basic year three Charms fare!_ "No, Mr. Potter, tell Miss Granger a spell would interfere with the chanting and the ritual would collapse."

"Uhm, okay, we'll need a potion then, I guess. Uh, would you know how to brew Spectatis Auras, by any chance?" the boy asked in almost a whiny tone. Severus' fingers itched all the way up to his knuckles.

"No, Mr. Potter, not 'by any chance', by _every_ chance; I invented it," he growled, letting his face show his disgust at the world's ineptitude. He turned back to the table which had reshaped itself into a writing desk again and he stretched out his hand to grab the quill. As his plaster-cast hand came into his field of vision, he could not suppress uttering a muffled curse; he had forgotten about the state of his hand.

"If I may," the boy spoke, grabbing his attention quite effectively. Severus turned to look at the disturbance with annoyance, only to be startled to see Potter's chair had transformed itself into a traditional school desk and the boy sat with quill in hand and empty parchment in front of him, ready to take notes.

Quickly and concisely Severus dictated the ingredient list and brewing procedure, and after he had finished he made Potter give him the parchment so he could check it for mistakes. He was gratified to find none. The act of checking was, in this case, not a matter of trying to find fault, as it would have been in class. No, in this case Severus would have checked the notes of even a Master Brewer; there was just too much at stake to chance using a flawed recipe.

"I'm assuming Miss Granger will brew the potion?" Severus inquired as nonchalantly as he could. At Potter's nod he added, "I will want to check her brew before it is used." He expected Potter to object, but the boy merely nodded and moved on to the next note on his list.

"It says here I'm to use an aphrodisiac." Potter looked up at him with pleading eyes before continuing, "But Sir, I've really no need for one; I, uh, get hard just thinking about, uh, well, uhm, rear ends."

After the boy's stammering had come to an end with a rosy red blush riding high on his youthful cheeks at Severus' disapproving look, Severus spoke. "Mr. Potter, do you actually think you can remain 'hard' for some time, while being viewed by your best friends plus most of your peers at school, when, after first whipping your old decrepit potions teacher, you must fuck 'the Greasy Git' against my will and without my co-operation?"

Severus almost felt gleeful as he saw the eyes widen, the colour of his cheeks drain and the Adam's apple bob with shock. Almost, but not quite; he himself was the real butt of this joke after all.

"Uh, I'll guess I'll take that potion," the boy stammered. It took a moment or two before Severus saw the boy pull back together. _God, he hated prudes._

"Uh, 'Mione said she could use a good recipe for an appropriate aphrodisiac," Potter said, surprising Severus; apparently Granger wasn't that much of a prude, at least not to such an extent she would not make Potter ask for what she thought they might need. He sat back in his chair and indicated that Potter should start writing.

This recipe he also checked after Potter handed it over; it was all there.

"Uh, the whipping, Sir," was Potter's next question.

"What about it?" Severus found he was getting tired and hungry, two things that had never improved his social skills, not even at the best of time. And these were not even close to the 'best of times'. Oh, how he wished this day was over and done with, so he could rest!

"It just says to 'draw blood'," Potter said.

"Yes, that is what it says," Severus confirmed.

"Well, how do I do that?" Potter queried.

_Oh Merlin, save me from inexperienced adolescents._ Severus sat forward in his chair to give what he was about to say more impact. "Why, you practice, Mr. Potter."

"Oh," was the only reply and the boy sat staring at the floor, frowning for some moments.

"Then it says 'once you are in the right state, cast the best spell through the Dark Mark at the target'. That doesn't tell me anything on how or what," Potter whined.

"That is because that part is in untried territory, even I don't know what we will encounter at that point. All I can give you is the basic objective: cast through the Mark at the right time. That is all I have to give," Severus explained as patiently as he could. He vehemently hoped the boy wouldn't keep going on at this part of the ritual; there was really nothing more he knew, and Severus was now both nauseated and ravenous, and he very much wanted this talk to end.

"Oh," Potter said, taking a long moment to scan the scroll again. Apparently finding nothing more to ask, the boy got up and Severus sat back in his chair, exhaling slowly in relief. But it seemed the world really hated one Severus Tobias Snape, because just before Potter stepped through the magic screen he turned back and asked, "Uhm, what about using lubricant and, well, doesn't it need, like, stretching and stuff?"

A wave of nausea crashed over Severus and he had to fight hard to keep his breakfast down. He jumped up and yelled out, "Spells! Mr. Potter, use the right bloody spells! When the time comes," he added, his anger tapering off a little.

"Yes, Sir," Potter whispered and slunk off. _Teens, with their limited knowledge and their guileless mouths, bah!_ Severus sat again, this time facing away from the shimmering curtain; there really wasn't any threat left that could come from that side and he wanted at least the illusion of privacy right at that moment, while his stomach still churned and his heart was lodged firmly in his throat.

 

 

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Severus had not eaten much of the lunch Lovegood had brought some time later. What he had managed to ingest sat like a brick in his insides and he ended up trying to drown it in the tea that had come with the food, to no avail. Of course he knew neither the food nor the tea was to blame for the rock in his stomach; it was the upcoming humiliation that had soured his food: a humiliation he would not be able to get out of, nay, one that he had to orchestrate himself, in large part.

It was just at that moment when Severus felt at his lowest he heard Potter step through the curtain and he turned around just in time to see Lovegood leave. There was to be more talk that needed privacy then, Severus suspected.

"Professor," Potter stated.

"Mr. Potter," Severus gave back evenly, even though he much rather would have yelled: _Get on with it, you dunderhead!_

"Hermione says everything will be ready for tomorrow night," Potter opened. Severus felt a cold chill go through him. _No, that would not do. At all._

"Tonight, you mean," Severus corrected him, hoping he'd get the hint. Severus was not happy only to see some doubt in Potter's eyes; he needed him to change that date, and fast.

"Well, Hermione says," - and here Severus' hands started to itch again. _Can't you think for yourself for one moment?!_ \- "that tomorrow is still a good full moon and we could all use a day's rest."

_A rest?_ Severus hadn't 'rested' in years and he strongly suspected he'd not be getting any until he was resting in the good green earth. Even so, spending an extra day with this _thing_ hanging over his head would not be restful to him in any way whatsoever! And there were better reasons besides.

"It is most _gratifying_ that Miss Granger is thinking of our continued good health, but I assure you, she is the only one. The Dark Lord, for instance, is going to be vexed if I don't show up soon. He doesn't know I'm not in his Keep right now, making the potions he's demanded of me. It will be a matter of hours before he finds I'm missing, not days. When he discovers my ‘unauthorized’ absence, he will not bother to send out a search party; he will simply use my Mark to force me to come back to him if I can. If it turns out I am not 'free' to come to him, he will not think twice about punishing me for it, with extreme prejudice and without bothering to enquire as to _why_ I'm unavailable to him." He took a breath before continuing. "So you see that 'a day's rest' would not be beneficial to me in any way whatsoever."

At that he sat back down and observed Potter's face for a reaction. What he saw was not quite what he had expected; the boy's mouth was like a straight line and his eyes shone with annoyance.

"Well. You might have said all that a little shorter, if not nicer," Potter said. "I'll tell Hermione it's gotta be tonight, then," he added as he turned back towards the magic screen.

"Thank you," Severus said - and meant it too - before adding, "And you know well enough; I'm not ever 'nice'."

Potter nodded at that and left.

 

 

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The afternoon dragged on interminably. After Potter had been by to let Severus know the ritual had been set at 6 pm that evening, Severus had sat down at the desk and had used his left hand to write his Last Will and Testament.

It was not the first time he had written such a thing; as a spy he had had many occasions to write a Will; he had it almost down to a routine. First date and identification: _January 12th 1998. I, Severus Tobias Snape, being of sound mind, etc._ Then a list of hazardous experiments and material he had lying about. A depressing short list: he had lied about currently working on a potion for the Dark Lord. That left the locked ingredient chest in his old rooms, assuming it was still there and whole. No, he was sure it was still in one piece; an explosion that big would have made the _Prophet_ front page. He detailed the procedure for tipping the entire box, contents and all, into Oblivion. But he refused to add a way to open it; the things in that box had no business existing in a peaceful world.

Next came the disposition of his worldly goods, if indeed there were any left to dispose of. He gifted it all to Hogwarts with Minerva as executor, with instructions to 'do the right thing'; something he couldn't have figured out for some of the things he owned, thereby unfortunately saddling her with an impossible task. He did stipulate that all his potions notebooks - the ones that were not in that box, that is - should be sent to the Potions Institute. Not that they deserved it, but there really wasn't any one colleague who had a better claim to them: incompetent vultures all.

Then came the disposition of his physical remains. He took a few moments to rethink this one, as he had every time before when writing his Will. He still wanted to be buried at Hogwarts and he still wanted to be laid out in the midnight robes Albus had given him so many years ago. But to write that now, after Albus had died at his hand – last request or not - might be pointless as it would likely be ignored, and possibly it was too provocative. Still, he wanted it, and even if they might dump him in a pauper's grave far away from here, this was _his_ Last Will and Testament and here he was free to ask for what he wanted, for once.

Lastly came the personal statement. Before, he'd have written a personal message to Albus in this spot, but now... Now he looked at the empty page for a very long time before he just signed his name.

He added a bloody thumb print as authentication, since he was without his wand and did not own a seal. The room provided a sharp needle and a cloth to wipe away the excess blood. He neatly folded the parchment and, checking that Lovegood was occupied with her odd reading, slipped it under his pillow on the bed.

As he moved back to the table - which had changed back from a desk - to retake his seat, he spied a new item on the wall next to the window: a clock. Severus was relieved to note it was a quite ordinary clock. Having lived his youth in a Muggle style house - without any conveniences, either wizard or Muggle - he had never developed the knack of instantly being able to read a new Wizarding clock. Thank goodness, this clock had the standard number of hands and numerals and it simply showed it was 4:15.

He sighed. _Great._ One hour and forty-five minutes was just enough time for him to go totally stir crazy; Severus could feel the tension gathering behind his breast bone already!

"Professor, would you like to read my book?" The sound of Lovegood's voice quite close by startled him out of his gloomy thoughts. He turned his head towards it and saw her standing in the middle of the bars, theatrically leaning over, holding out a long arm, with the mentioned book in her hand, the other behind her back, not unlike a well-trained butler.

He could read the spine from where he sat: _A Tale Of Two Cities_ , a long-time favourite of his. Then he found he was holding the book before he had actually realized he had given his hands the command to take it. He made a move to give it back; it was not his and he would not be in anyone's debt. But Lovegood had already turned around and was heading back to her chair, on which, incidentally, another book lay open, face down.

Knowing full well that if he didn't distract himself from the waiting a meltdown was imminent, he opened the much loved story to its first chapter. _'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.'_

How _true._

 

 

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Severus knew he could not consume the whole book in the time left to him, so he just read his favourite scenes and found, with some irony, that Sydney Carton featured in all of them. Most notable the last scene. _It's a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done._

After had he closed the book and put it on the table he took his tea cup and moved to the window sill. At 5:40 the January sun would already have set, but the illusion in the window showed a sunny midsummer evening with a slight breeze that swayed the trees, and the children having their tea as picnics dotted around the Castle's extensive lawn. It was an idyllic scene, perfectly true at one time, when he had witnessed it from the window of Albus' rooms so long ago. It had given him some peace then. It did so now. _It's a far, far better rest I go to, than I have ever known._

 

 

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Tranquility could only last so long and in this case Providence only afforded him some ten minutes of it. Severus didn't turn around when he heard footsteps and the sound of rich cloth being handled; he knew what it was before Lovegood spoke.

"The robes are here. It's time to get ready, Sir." _How odd that she sounds so competent right at this minute._ He turned around, saw the white robe draped over 'his' chair and nodded.

"I will step out for a moment to get ready myself," she said then turned around neatly and left. Severus eyed the robe for a long moment before taking action. Getting out of the pyjamas was not difficult, even with the plaster-cast arm. He stripped off every stitch of clothing, including the underpants he himself would never have worn with pyjamas. That they were there at all mercilessly reminded him once again that he wasn't the one who had dressed himself last night, and the reason for that. He shuddered at the memory. And then he shuddered a little harder at the thought of the Ritual to come.

He had just pulled the robe close - there was no belt, only a single button that had given him some trouble - and stepped out of his slippers for the last time when the barrier shimmered and Potter stepped through, similarly attired: white-robed and barefoot.

"Three minutes," the boy announced and made to turn around.

"Potter." The word stopped him in mid motion. He turned back and Severus sought out the emerald eyes.

"Use the spells now," he commanded. And his heart sank when he saw confusion in the green orbs.

"Spells?" Potter asked, his voice reflecting confusion.

"Spells, yes!" Severus couldn't stop from spitting out. "Cleaning and lubrication spells, right NOW, Mr. Potter!"

Severus was already sorry for lashing out while he was doing it, but he just couldn't stop, not even when the green turned dark with anger. And angry was indeed what the boy was and Severus stiffened in sudden fright as Potter drew out his wand and took aim at him.

The bright yellow spell light hit him full on and he felt it engulf him. It felt like a scouring pad was used all over his body and inside too, though not as rough. Then, before the first spell was even done, a bright orange spell hit him and he staggered back a bit, his head dropping, as he felt the lubrication hit home.

"Is that what you wanted?" Potter jeered, his face a grimace. Severus recovered by leaning on the table heavily. Despite the intention and the effect of the first spell he felt incredibly dirty and used and his legs almost wouldn't hold him. All he could do was bark out, "Out." And when he looked up and Potter was still standing there, his face full of disbelief, Severus took a step forward and raised his voice, "Get out! NOW!" And thank Merlin, the boy fled.

For some very long minutes Severus stood there leaning on the table, panting harshly. It took all his strength of will to get himself back under control. At some point he had felt Lovegood's aura come to him and then come to a standstill. But since she didn't speak, he ignored it and her in favour of some breathing exercises.

More minutes passed and Severus felt a little calmer. He was sure Lovegood was bleeding the anger out of him and ordinarily he'd hex her for trying that trick on him, but now he was genuinely grateful; at this point he would take all the help he could get.

"It's time," she said after some more minutes had passed. Severus knew she was right; he was calm enough now if only he didn't start thinking about the things to come, what lay just beyond the barrier. For a moment his breath hitched and he felt the panic threaten to reappear.

"Look at me," she commanded and Severus found he could not disobey her as he felt her aura reach out to his. Slowly he straightened and looked at her. She was also dressed in a white robe - this one tied with a wide silver belt - and her feet were bare. As her met her azure eyes she started to speak _, "Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis_."

The first phrase of the chant. Yes, that was a great idea. He joined her in the second line, keeping eye contact, _"Hic Veneficus futurus libere."_ He could feel the magic flowing between them and closed his eyes for a moment with the sweetness of it. _"Nostrum sententia es videlicet."_ He felt the last of the anxiety drift away from him. _"Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus."_ And her aura seemed to melt with his, if only for a moment, before settling next to his. _"Nos factum ut unus."_ He took her hand as she offered it and stepped around the table and stood next to her, chanting still, feeling the magic swirl around him. _"Malum est profugus. Huic locus est pacis."_ Together they walked forward, past the table, past the point the bars had been, up to and through the shimmering magic curtain.

As he stepped out into the moonlight, he entered the same space he had been in last night, but now at the other end. He swallowed hard when he saw the black-robed circle of children, the vaulting horse and the table with its lurid load. He almost faltered, but it was Lovegood's clear voice that, as it started the next round of chanting, practically demanded that he keep the chant going. _"Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis."_

As soon as he felt his throat reverberate and he heard the words emanating from himself and from her, he felt that much stronger. _"Hic Veneficus futurus libere."_ Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lovegood raise her arms as though conducting an orchestra. _"Nostrum sententia es videlicet. Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus. Nos factum ut unus."_ And indeed that was what it amounted to; more voices had sounded with each consecutive phrase.

As they chanted the verse two more times, Severus could feel the magic building around them. And at the next start of the chant, he knew he was as ready as he was likely to get. His nerves squeaked a little as he felt Dean Thomas' and Seamus Finnegan's unmistakable magical presence appear on either side of him. He concentrated fully on chanting as he popped the single button and slipped the robe off his shoulders. For a moment he thought he heard gasps and sensed a disturbance in the magic, but it was gone quickly enough and it didn't even register enough to warrant paying any attention to it.

No, he was quite busy keeping the chant going despite Lovegood's and the other chanters' help. It was things like the feel of rough hands on his upper arms that mercilessly guided him to the middle of the room and then bent him over the vaulting horse that distracted him. Each time he was touched, he had to work harder at refinding the rhythm in the chant. And after straps had been laid low over his butt and high over his shoulder blades, and his head had been positioned with his right ear to the horse's leather cover and had been strapped down with a belt just above his left ear, and first his legs and then his arms were tied down - his right secured with a rope around the cast and his left with the lower arm turned out so the Dark Mark was readily accessible - he found he was panting so hard with panic that he lost the last comfort that the chanting had brought him.

"Dean?" he heard Finnigan whisper.

"'Tight' he said." Thomas' tone was serious. And much to Severus' relief, at least this child knew how to follow orders, for he felt the lower strap pulled tight and then even tighter with a jerk. Then the head belt was tightened and then the shoulder belt. And then he felt it: the thing he had both dreaded and longed for. Slowly he felt the pulling asunder of his spirit from his flesh.

 

 

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Very gradually he became aware of being able to 'see' the world in its full 360-degree circle all at once. He could 'see' his own body beneath him. As he 'looked' around he found the room itself had grown dim, its physical features diminished almost to nothing. It did not surprise him, for in this space it was not a candle that could illuminate but only magic. And there was plenty of that! The magic produced in the chant swirled like a pink mist around a circle composed of many twinned blobs of cyan-blue with bright brown. Colours here were not like those in the regular world; here brown and blue were as bright as yellow or gold, and no less beautiful.

He felt he could recognize some of the people present by the configuration of their radiant magic. Weasley was easily recognized by the tree-like shape; brown stem and branches carrying the cyan leaves. The Know-it-all Granger's was a almost solid clump of cyan with brown veins running through it. It was so dense that he could not see the brown core, but he could feel its presence. The wildly fluctuating mass of cyan, with the occasional brown lightning bolt going through it, could be none other than Longbottom's. Severus quickly averted his 'gaze' from it, lest it make him dizzy. His gaze was drawn to a much more calming sight: a large airy cyan cloud with very elegant brown swirls in it that seemed to interact with the pink mist, without coming to any harm or losing its consistency: Lovegood, a breath-taking sight. But what was most beautiful of the entire scene was the bright green star that stood just behind his physical body: Potter.

Severus was no stranger to this kind of landscape; in his young adulthood he had spent many hours trying to enter here, only to fail every time. It was an irony then, that while he could not enter when he wanted to, he could so easily be thrust here by outside forces. And if it hadn't been for the fact that he was totally distracted by the Emerald Vision before/behind him, he might have wailed at his misfortune.

But as it was, he could not look away from the green, watching it bobbing about and feeling its fire touch him briefly here and there as Potter, with fingers slick with an ointment mixed with a few drops of the boy's blood, anointed the scars of previous ownership on his body, both those visible to naked eyes and those that were not, infusing them, and him, with the brightest green light. And thus preparing to claim Severus.

All marks of previous ownership bar one; that one Potter would need as a conduit to reach the Dark Lord and it would have to stay untouched for now.

A sudden pain went through his body; he could feel it in a filtered sort of way. And when he looked he saw a bright green line appear on his own back. _Well, maybe the boy was good for something after all. He drew blood at the first try; must have practiced some, or it was the boy's indomitable luck._ A second pain was felt and a second line appeared.

Severus knew what was to happen next and turned his attention away from his body. Instead he basked in the green light that was Potter and ignored all other sensations. That way he could tell himself that the green magic entered him freely and without discomfort. When it did, it almost blew his mind. The magic was clear and warm, but did not burn, nor did it demand surrender from him; it just was. And then it was more. And then it flooded him. And then...

Then he felt there was a sound in his ear. The space he was inhabiting at that moment was a place of sights and feelings, sensation, but not much of sound or language. Severus was sure the sound was a voice speaking, but there was no way he could've grasped its meaning. It was a safe guess that it was Potter speaking, though; who else could it be? And on that assumption Severus tried to formulate a cohesive thought and then he tried to shove it at the green light. He had never had to communicate while in this state before, so all he could do was try and hope that it worked.

_/What is it?/_ he sent.  
_/Grmthblm,/_ the boy sent back.  
_/Concentrate!/_ he sent out, already mentally shaking his head; this was precisely the kind of thing the brat had been bad at when doing Occlumency.  
_/Whm dm aiee dm nss?/_ came back.  
_/Again!/_ Severus 'yelled', hoping volume would motivate Potter.  
_/Whatm doom ai doom neckst?/_ came back.  
_/Go through the Mark!/_ Severus yelled back, exasperation taking hold; _they had gone over it enough, hadn't they?_  
_/Hown?/_ The boy started to sound upset. Well, at least now Severus wasn't the only one!  
_/Just go through it. Place your wand and push through. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!/_ he added when the instructions didn't seem to be carried out immediately.

A sharp pain went through him, not unlike the Cruciatus, but shorter. Then he saw it out in front of him, still very far away; the Red Light, bright as a star. It had been with him since the Dark Lord first had marked him, always just beyond the periphery, watching, waiting, guarding its property. And now the 'property' had been violated, so soon the Red Light would take an interest in what the Green was doing. And they had only a small window of time to make the surprise attack.

_/Aim and fire!/_ Severus urged.  
_/Main at what?!/_ Potter queried.  
_/The Red Light! There in front of us!/_ Severus screamed.  
_/There is mothing! I see mothing!/_ came a panicked reply.  
_The boy genuinely couldn't see the bright Red Light? It was enormous, how could he miss it?!_ That was the other reason for taking the Spectatis Auras, so Potter would be able see the target. But somehow he didn't. Severus had to think of something and fast!

He sought and quickly found Potter's wand. In this space it manifested as a sort of lit-up tendril that was attached to the Green Light. It glowed white as it sat there, impaling a dark patch of Severus' own magic. He wrapped a bit of his energy tightly around the wand, a little way away from the dark patch, and tried to move it. It moved slightly and sluggishly. That would have to do.

_/Let me guide your wand,/_ Severus sent.  
_/Mfine,/_ came back after only a short pause.

Severus carefully guided the wand into the right direction for a direct hit on the Red Light. And none too soon, because as he made a final adjustment, he realized the Red Light was not quite so far away any more. He wrapped as much of his magic as he could around the wand and commanded Potter to _/Cast the spell!/_

Then the biggest Spell Fire Ball in history was discharged from the wand, the force of which shocked Severus as if it was Muggle electricity. It travelled the distance to the Red Light instantly and exploded on impact. Severus could only watch as the explosion then imploded into a bright black hole that started to suck everything that was close into it. And apparently Severus was close enough to feel his spirit gripped by the dark patch, which slipped off Potter's wand, and then inexorably was dragged towards the blackness.

He released any hold he had on the Green Light - no use both of them going down - and he didn't fight the the dark pull. It was really better this way; less evil left in the world after this.

Behind him the Green lit up sharply and he could hear Potter yell, _/No!/_ But it was all too late anyway. Then he felt himself grabbed from the other side and the descent stopped. But only for a moment, as black tendrils came to grab him tighter and started pulling against Potter's force. Then the pain started and Severus screamed, for this pain was a thousand times worse than suffering Cruciatus and then he felt as if he was falling into utter blackness.

 

 

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The wave of nausea told him quite firmly that he wasn't dead. All he had time for was to clamp a hand over his mouth, a pain shooting up the corresponding lower arm, and he struggled to roll himself over and push his aching head just outside of the bed, before he lost it. The ache in his head turned into a stabbing pain, before going back to a very insistent drumming. Throwing up did nothing at all to relieve his nausea, it was effective only in relieving him of his stomach content.

He was still hanging over the side of the bed and looking down at the fouled floor when the mess suddenly started spinning, and disappeared as though flushed down the drain. While he was relieved the stench also had disappeared, the effect did nothing for either his head or his stomach.

He gave himself a little more time before venturing to sit up. Once he was sitting upright on the bed, Lovegood – yes, he had felt her earlier - held out a potion for him to take. Automatically he used his right hand, but the hand was still not far enough along to grasp anything as large as a potions vial. He tried again with the left and while it did what he required of it, a shooting pain accompanied every move. A look at the arm - after first smell-testing, then taking the Anti-Nausea Draught - showed it to be bandaged; a small circular stain of congealed blood had seeped through on the inside of his arm and a corresponding stain could be seen on the outside.

_'Just go through it. Place your wand and push though. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!'_

Well, that had gone a little more literally than Severus would have thought! He looked at both his wounded arms for a moment. Yes, it had hurt, left arm still did, but if this was what was necessary to get rid of the Dark Lord, it was worth it. Then a thought came to him: they had succeeded, hadn't they?

He frantically looked up and found Lovegood standing there with another potion - Skele-Gro, judging by the shape of the bottle.

"Miss Lovegood." He didn't quite know how to phrase the question eloquently so he went for content accuracy instead. "Did we win? I mean, is the Dark Lord dead?"

Lovegood's face took on a dreamy far-away look and Severus feared for a moment that his current source of information was lost to some Far Away Fairyland, but then she nodded and said, "I felt him pass. He did not go easily and he didn't go alone." Then she looked at him and said, "But I'm very glad to say, he took none of us with him." She then handed him the vial and turned to walk to the little table where a few more potions sat, ready to be administered. Oh, joy.

 

 

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It was nearly noon by the time Severus sat down to breakfast. He was again wearing pyjamas, slippers and the dark green house robe. And he was still confined to the room he had woken up in the morning before, with its magic Curtain, bed, table with single chair, clock and the big window. The only thing that was different was that the window now showed a landscape that was more in tune with the time of year: overcast sky, snow-laden leafless trees and the lake frozen solid, and not a child in sight because of the cold. The normality of the scene comforted him; it was bleak and dismal, much like all reality.

He had asked to see Potter several times, but each time Lovegood had come back without him. She did bring news, though: confirmation that the Dark Lord was indeed dead and his lifeless body had been found. She added that some dead Death Eaters had been found nearby, Malfoy Sr. being one of them.

That news was not exactly welcomed, even if Severus had fully expected Malfoy to be among the first dead. Malfoy had been one of the few people ever to do him a kindness, even if it didn't turn out to have been one in the end, but Severus knew that Malfoy had at least tried.

The next time Lovegood stepped out, she came back with a paper wrapped bundle which she unpacked; she handed the contents to Severus: a complete set of clothing in his style and size, brand new, underwear included. He had a good idea who they were from so he didn't bother asking; he was just grateful to be wearing real clothing again!

Lovegood turned her back as he changed clothes, but he found he did require her help doing up the buttons on his shirt, waistcoat, cuffs and suit coat, after spending a very long and painful time doing up his fly - all of four buttons - himself. She was quite efficient about it and Severus recalled she was the only daughter of a widower; she was probably used to doing up men's clothing without being embarrassed.

The last item in the parcel was his teaching robes. By rights he wasn't entitled to wear them, but as Lovegood adjusted them around his shoulders, he felt one hundred times better and automatically his spine straightened, bringing his head up, and his view of the world improved. Clothes maketh man. It really worked sometimes.

After Severus finished dressing, Lovegood suggested taking the Barrier down. Severus, of course, didn't object - not that his objection would have counted for much; with those bars still up, he was well aware he was still nothing but a prisoner, despite the friendly treatment.

As the Barrier fell, raining scintillating fairy dust that never hit the ground, Severus was relieved to note that the room that came into view was not the one from the ritual. No, it was more of a War Room, with large tables with maps and open books on them and people - Granger, Weasley and Potter among them - standing around them discussing strategy. At the far end to the left of the large doors was a long table pushed to the wall that was filled with platters of sandwiches and other easy-to-eat food. Longbottom was there, stuffing something covered in powdered sugar into his mouth. There were jugs of pumpkin juice, large Everfull coffee and tea pots with steam coming out of the spouts. To the right of the doors was a huge map of Wizarding Britain with flags of all colours sticking out of it, some moving by themselves as a subject moved through the real countryside. A stepladder stood in front of the map and several Common Room type couches stood before that, arranged in a social setting, with some students - Thomas, the female Weasley, Finnigan - now occupying it.

Both left and right walls had a row of tall windows at the top, letting in the pale winter's light, while underneath were six doors on each side, one of which was ajar; Severus could see the side of a Hogwarts standard issue dorm bed inside. Apparently at least some of the students had been sleeping in the Room of Requirement.

As the Barrier disappeared a silence fell, and everyone looked up from whatever it was they'd been doing, to look at him. Severus recognized each and every one of them as having been part of the ritual. He swallowed his nervousness down and then forced himself up to the maximum of his height and dignity. Most likely, with what they had seen of him in the last few days, he had lost any respect he had ever had from these children, but he knew the trick was to not let it affect you, at least in appearance.

Of all of the brats it was Potter, of course, who made the first move; he stepped forward and said, "Professor," in a tone that, had it not been aimed at him, he would have called inviting.

"Mr. Potter," he gave back as evenly as he could.

A silence fell and Severus could hear his heart beating in his chest with anxiety, getting louder by the second. Finally Potter said, "We," he waved his arm around to indicate all present, "have agreed that what happened here last night and Sunday night, stays here."

Severus stayed silent at this for the simple reason he was stumped; they intended to keep this to themselves and not humiliate him with it forever?

"To that end," Potter continued, "we've agreed to take an Unbreakable Vow." At these words every person not yet standing, stood. "I've asked McGonagall to do the spell, she should be here shortly."

"Headmistress McGonagall," Severus automatically corrected him. The idea that these children would go as far as using the Vow had shocked him, and he needed a minute to arrange his thoughts.

Just at the moment Potter was turning around to issue orders to organize the Vow taking, Severus was ready to speak.

"No. I will not accept the Vow from children," he stated.

"Sir, what we did last night was not 'child's play'; we are no longer children," Granger said, after stepping up to Potter's side like a protective lioness, flanking him.

"No, Miss Granger, it was not. It was also something that should never have been necessary to undertake by anyone at any time. Because it was necessary, I consented to take part. But taking an Unbreakable Vow is not necessary and I will not consent to it." He made his speech sound as final as he could; he would not be persuaded off his stance.

"We are proposing taking this Vow to protect _you_ ," Weasley sounded almost accusatory as he stepped up to Potter's other side.

"Why, thank you Mr. Weasley, but I have no need of such protection," Severus addressed the angry-looking boy. To the room in general he said, "In my experience nothing good ever comes from taking this Vow, and no one is protected. The Unbreakable Vow is Dark Magic and as such it devours all who touch it." Seeing in some of the faces a determination to argue, he added, "If you feel so strongly about it, a simple promise of silence should suffice."

The room was deadly silent while looks were exchanged, with Potter at the centre. The looks became nods and presently Potter spoke, "Agreed. We," he stopped to wave his arm again to include everybody, "promise that what happened here in the past 48 hours, stays here and among us only." A unsynchronized chorus of "I promise." ran though the room. Severus was pretty sure every one had said it. As the sound died down, he added his own promise.

Severus could see Potter sigh in relief, even from the distance between them, by his sagging shoulders. Then the boy's shoulders came up again as he prepared to say something more.

"Professor, thank you, for everything." The shoulders sagged a little, apparently the tension was now gone.

_Thank you._ Severus did not know what to say to that; no one had ever thanked him, not without prompting or cajoling or expecting to gain something. Not even Albus had ever thanked him freely.

Then, before Severus could reply, there was another chorus of 'thank you's, more quiet than the one for the 'promise' but still.

"You're welcome," he stammered, appalled at his own lack of eloquence; what was he, an eleven year old?!

"How's about something to drink to celebrate, instead of all this yapping?" Finnigan shouted from the sofa area, already on his feet moving over to the buffet, where large bottles had appeared.

Severus was still reeling with the last few days' events when a half-full Champagne flute was thrust into his hand.

"To Victory," Potter announced lifting his glass. "To Victory," the entire ensemble chorused, Severus included.

 

 

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It wasn't long after the party started that Potter was called away. And Severus, who wasn't inclined to be social at the best of times, found that the few sips of Champagne sapped the last of his energy, so he sat down on 'his' chair tiredly, watching the children have their fun.

 

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A shock went though him as he startled awake. He righted himself in his seat once he realized he had slouched while asleep.

"Severus Tobias Snape!" a voice came. Male, mature, the tone promising nothing good. Severus couldn't see who had called from his vantage point, so he stood up and immediately spotted the twin set of Auror-red robes. _Merlin's Beard, just what he needed!_

"Severus Tobias Snape, we've come to arrest you!" The owner of the voice was a known Auror; even if Severus could not directly recall the name, he knew the face. He knew all the faces of the Auror Department, as a matter of course; as a spy you needed to know if someone put in a ringer, with or without Polyjuice.

"Severus Tobias, uh, Snape," the man said again as he tried to get by the kids to get to him. Unfortunately for the red-faced man, the children had other ideas; they kept stepping in his way and he was forced to try to squeeze his fat belly by them. In the end the man started shoving the kids out of the way and the children were about to fight back when Severus decided enough was enough; this could not be stopped anyway.

"Let him through," he commanded, his voice raised only to the lowest of his quiet-the-class-voices. The children looked disapproving, but made a path for the Auror and his partner all the way to the back of the room and Severus' position.

Once both men had reached him, the Auror harrumphed, rolled out an official looking document and started to read in a volume that would have put a town crier to shame.

"This is an arrest warrant for Severus Tobias Snape, Death Eater, charged with the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts on Monday, June 30th 1997, at Hogwarts. By order of the—"

"Excuse me, Sir, you have the wrong man." It was Weasley's voice that interrupted the proceedings. Severus could only look at the boy incredulously; how could he say that? They all knew that Severus was the man the Aurors wanted. They all knew Severus had done the deed even if few knew under what circumstances. But those would have to be sorted out in court and if anyone knew that court and then jail was where Severus belonged, it was Severus himself; his sins were unforgivable, after all.

"Young man." The other Auror had turned to the redhead and was about to tell him what's what. "Hindering an officer of the courts in the execution of his duty is an offence."

"So is arresting the wrong man," Weasley insisted. Now the man joined the discussion by asking, "Wrong, how?"

An almost smug look came over the young man's freckled face and Severus was starting to fear the worst; the boy hadn't gone and thought for himself, had he? That could not come to any good.

"Your warrant says 'Severus Snape, Death Eater' doesn't it?"

"'Severus _Tobias_ Snape, Death Eater' yes. What of it?" A note of impatience entered the man's voice.

"Well, this man is not a Death Eater, so the warrant is incorrect and therefore not legal," Weasley finished triumphantly.

Not a Death Eater? Of course Severus was a Death Eater; one did not just stop being a Death Eater! This was serious Dark Magic, irreversible; not even in death would he cease to be one! What was the dunderhead on about?!

The Auror now had both fists planted firmly in his fat sides like a fishmonger's wife, before bending over Weasley and demanding, "And how do you _know_ he's no Death Eater?"

Weasley put on an air of nonchalance and said, "Well, check for his Mark; he doesn't have one."

_Doesn't have one?_ Ice ran up Severus' spine. How can that be? The Mark could not be removed, ever. Merlin knew how much research both Albus and himself had done about it and all in vain; he was doomed to carry the Mark to his grave!

As his mind whirled with the impossibility of it, his eyes slowly fell upon his left arm. The Mark should rest underneath the two layers of his clothing and the bandage. He turned the arm so he could look at where the Mark was, should be, as though he could see it through the cloth. And maybe he could. He let his magic roll around his arm and he was sure he felt it there, dormant, but there definitely. But was it? What if he was only imagining it there? What if...

But then his thoughts were interrupted as the man had stepped forward and had reached out a hand towards Severus' arm. Severus stepped to the side, out of reach, instinctively, but the large man followed him.

"Now, then, let's have a look!" the man boomed, stepping forward again. Severus stepped backwards again, bumping into someone behind him.

"Stop!" Thomas's voice from his left. The man stopped to look at the boy and Severus stood stock still, unsure if he even wanted to know or not.

"What is it now!" the man demanded. Thomas, who had been standing behind some people, stepped forward into the open space between the Aurors and Severus. He turned to the man and said, "The professor is wounded and I had a devil of a time bandaging him up. I won't have you hurt anyone under my care just so you can arrest the wrong man."

"'Under your care'? What are you, a Healer? At your age? Pah!" the Auror taunted. Severus couldn't see the young man's face but he could read his body language well enough and his voice was telling. Exasperated the boy said, "No, I'm not a Healer. But I am apprenticing under Madam Pomfrey and I'm sure if you asked her what she would have said in the same circumstances, she would agree with my position; don't touch my handiwork! If anybody does it's going to be me!"

The man seemed to be swayed by the argument and said, "Then by all means do. Show us his arms."

Thus committed, Thomas turned around towards Severus and Severus was sure he heard him whisper, "Sorry, Professor" under his breath.

_Sorry?_ For what? Come to think of it, all the children, especially Weasley, looked stricken. Whatever for? Either he bore the Mark or he didn't, there was no third option.

With his mind in total confusion, Severus let Thomas take off his teaching robes and overcoat. The waistcoat and shirt were left on him as the boy could just as easily open the cuffs, roll them up and undo the bandage like that.

Severus stood quite still as the boy undid the last coil of the overlaying bandage. He looked on, feeling oddly detached from the scene as the boy's large hand moved and his view of his own lower arm was no longer obscured. It was a spear of ice that went through him as he saw, not the darkly inked skull with its serpent crawling through the empty eye sockets, but a large red hand print with fingers spread out and curling around his arm on both sides, the thumb joining the index finger on one side and the other digits on the other. In the hollow between the index and middle finger, close to the 'body' of the hand, was a circular wound. Severus had no need to look at the other side of his arm; he knew the wound would have its exit on that side. It was where Potter had stuck his wand through the Mark in his arm. And the handprint must be where Potter had pulled at Severus' spirit as the Dark Lord had tried to drag him into death.

For a long moment Severus could not think at all, then his thoughts started racing. _The Mark was gone, Potter's handprint in its place. But the Mark could not be removed or undone. But maybe it could be... altered?_ That thought scared him more than dying by the Dark Lord's side could ever have. _For if Potter had altered the Mark, then..._ But his mind refused to even think it and all he could do was stand there as his world went to pieces.

 

 

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If Severus had been in a state to notice what went on around him, he might have heard the Auror demand they show his other arm, he might have felt the cast being removed and his naked, empty right arm being displayed. He might have objected just as strongly as the kids did as the man then suggested they strip Severus, to be thorough. He might have noticed both Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan putting their foot down and telling the Aurors to leave, while Ron Weasley stood there as pale as a sheet. He might heard the Aurors grumble about 'Ministerial incompetence' and actually leave. He might have felt Dean Thomas put the cast back on his right arm and rebandage his left. He might have registered all there things, but he didn't.

No, the first thing he registered was the arrival of Potter, as the boy entered the Room of Requirement, with his green aura faintly shimmering about him and the more subdued glow of the Know-it-all just behind him. And, truth be told, he didn't notice even that much; all he could see were those bright green eyes, like twin Emerald Stars obliterating the existence of any other thing in the universe.

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Tuesday, January 13th 1998, about 1:30 pm.**

Harry Potter - once a neglected wizard child in a Muggle family, then hailed as a Savior by the Wizarding World and subsequently, when the novelty wore off, ousted by that very same Wizarding World and most notably by the members of its official authorities - was not happy at all that his former Head of House, now Headmistress. Minerva McGonagall had lured him from what he thought was a well deserved party to mark the Victory over the Dark and Creepy. And he was most royally pissed off when it turned out it was on account of that pompous windbag Rufus Scrimgeour, who was the current Minister of Magic as 'Mione informed him in a whisper.

The man had brought five more Stuffed Shirts and one reporter, all of whom wanted their 'just a moment of your time, isn't too much to ask?' moment. _Pricks!_ But Potter knew he had always been too polite to refuse, the embarrassment of refusing simply outweighing the effort and persistence it would take to refuse. And really, refusing might actually take longer than complying.

So, he tried his best to keep everything as short as possible by giving almost monosyllabic replies - without being outright rude - especially to the reporter. At least the bubbly reporter wasn't Rita Skeeter.

But all in all, it was a good hour later that Harry found himself going down the revolving staircase with Hermione close behind him. As he waited for her to catch up at the foot of the stairs, she said, "Well, I think that went well. I'm going to make a few notes on what we told them about the ritual and pass those 'round, so everybody's on the same page," she continued as they set off down the halls towards the stairs.

Harry merely nodded and Hermione continued outlining what should be done next, with Harry nodding and adding a thought here and there as they made their leisurely way back to the Room of Requirement.

Talking in this way had been born of months of hunting Horcruxes and the subsequent search for the Dark Maggot. The hunt itself had gone remarkably well. It had been adventurous with a good dose of danger, without turning too grim. The Dark Devil really liked his Dark and Dingy places. And Dirty places too, so much so that 'Moine complained that the cobwebs had found their way into her bra and it itched! At which point Ron couldn't stop laughing. Harry couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"I'm glad that the Aurors have used Incendio on the Dark Dodo's remains," Hermione said after she had come to the end of her to-do list. Over those months and because most of Harry's friends seriously disliked using the Dark Nutter's self-chosen name, it had become a game between them to come up with as many different names to call His Darkly-ness as they could.

Harry couldn't agree more with her remark: this way no deluded wannabe Death Eater would be able to use it in any ritual. That thought brought another, more sobering one; they were going to have to tell Snape that all the other Death Eaters were dead. After all the man had done for them, Harry felt a little sorry for him, because he suspected Snape had actually liked Malfoy, and his father too. And the professor would have known Mrs. Malfoy, too, Harry thought, and now they were all dead.

Harry could still hardly believe all the things he, and all of them, had learned about Snape. When they were looking for the Horcruxes, they had had invaluable help from Dumbledore's portrait. The old Headmaster steadfastly refused to tell them where or how he got the intel, but it was always on the money and it actually saved all their lives at least twice, because they were forewarned. Harry was sure it had saved them years of work as well.

Then, after the last Horcrux had melted away in the Neutralizing Potion, the time had come to think about attacking the Dark Meany himself. That had been early November. But by early December, it became clear that finding him was not the problem, it was getting at him. The Dark Keep was surrounded by impenetrable magical devices and spells. And the moment a non-Death Eater so much as looked at it on a map, an alarm would go off inside and the Dark Eeew was warned.

With the alarm going off so often, His Darklyness had sent a siege party to Hogwarts a week after Harry and Co. had started thinking about the Dark Creep's location. But Hogwarts was in its turn protected by an equal number of magic spells and devices. It was a stalemate; the Bad Guys could not get into the Good Keep and the Good Guys couldn't get into the Bad Keep.

And so December turned to January and that's when the portrait came up with The Plan. And boy, what a plan it was! Using a Death Eater to magically get to the Dark Annoyance and, hopefully, kill him once and for all.

Portrait Dumbledore had made clear it really was a last resort and that he only knew that it was possible, not how it could be done. The only thing he said was that what he could contribute was the guaranteed appearance of a Death Eater at Hogwarts.

He did point Hermione in the right direction by having her read _Tales of Magic_ by Charles Cardamom, the 1867 edition. It told of a wizard who wanted to kill another wizard but, like them, he could not get at the man. So the wizard found an 'item of value' belonging to this other wizard and used it in a ritual as a conduit, so he could use a Killing Curse on the enemy. The story did not say who was the good guy in the story and the more Harry had learned about the ritual, the more he was thinking the first guy was the bad one because the 'item of value' was utterly destroyed in the process.

And that brought them to another problem; after the destruction of all the Horcruxes, what item of value had the Dark Lord left? Answer: not a 'what' but a 'who'. A Death Eater. And if you thought about it, Death Eaters were only a tool to His Dinginess and as such easily classifiable as an item.

So they'd have to capture a Death Eater. And this was when the portrait claimed he could provide them with their target.

It was a shock that it would be Snape they'd use. Dumbledore said Snape could be lured to the castle quite easily: some potion ingredients were so rare that in Britain, Hogwarts was the only place that stocked them. Not for use in class of course, but for special brews for the infirmary, etc.

Harry didn't much like to use a person he'd known for so long and whom he had feelings, even if they were all negative, about. Especially as it looked like they were going to have to physically assault the man, with knife and whip: possibly kill him, if Hermione's research at that point was anything to go by. Ron, of course, was all for it; "Stick it to the Greasy Git, but good!" he jeered. But Harry could only feel nausea at the idea.

That had been December 20th. It became clear that it was to be a full moon ritual and they'd just missed the window for December, so they set the 'D' date at January 11th, the first of the three days of the next full moon.

And that was how, ritual all drawn up and ready to go, on that Sunday night about 11:15 pm, Harry and his friends had ended up jumping Snape when the Greasy Git had sneaked his way into Hogwarts under a rather good Notice-Me-Not type of spell.

The first shock of the night, once Dean and Seamus had let the Death Eater up, was how horrible the man had looked. His clothes were worn and dirty, he was thin, his face and eyes hollow and his skin a sickly pallor. There was intense emotion in the black eyes, but because of Dean's Silencing Spell, Harry could not know what the emotions exactly were, apart from radiating malice.

Since there wasn't much point in talking - everybody but Snape knew what to do and Snape would be made to do his part when the time came - Harry took the head of the procession up the stairs towards the Room of Requirement in silence.

For some reason, he could feel Snape's beady black eyes drill into his back the whole way, giving him the creeps. It took some quite considerable willpower to force himself not to look back until the party had reached the room. Once there he turned around and stepped aside so Snape could see the set-up that had taken them days to perfect and so Harry could see the man's reaction.

And there he got the second shock of the night: instead of the expected fury in the man's eyes, Harry saw profound horror. Horror of the kind Harry himself had felt in that graveyard after Cedric's death. And suddenly Harry felt himself back there, held down, blood forcibly taken, and he was about to step forward and stop the ritual - _no one should go through something like this!_ \- when Snape's whole body came into action, trying to throw off Seamus and Dean.

It was as if Snape had gone berserk; he contorted and pulled on his captors as he tried to get his limbs back, the audible crunch of bones broken not seeming to snap him out of it at all. Harry backed off instinctively as a tornado-like magical wind localized around the three with Snape as its centre, breaking the silencing charm. Whereupon Snape let out such a scream of terror as Harry had never heard. Dean and Seamus finally let go of the Potions Master, but the screaming did not stop as the man sank to his knees, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he had been released.

The sound seemed to last forever but then was abruptly cut off when Ron cast a spell. Snape's eyes closed as he collapsed like a rag doll onto the stone hall pavers.

For half a minute there was dead silence, then everybody started talking at once. Except Harry, who found he could not take his eyes off his old professor's crumpled form.

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It had become clear to Harry, and Hermione, that they were not going to be doing this ritual with Snape. As Harry told the others of his decision not to do this, they all looked solemn and even Ron wasn't jeering anymore; they had all witnessed Snape's reaction and they had all been deeply impressed by its violence.

"I don't know what we're going to use for a plan now, but I don't want to be part of anything that puts terror like that in any other human being. Even if he's a Death Eater. Even if he killed the Headmaster. Just _not_ ," he told them and then he found himself choking up with the memory of Dumbledore. Having the man's portrait was great, but even it had told Harry it wasn't really Dumbledore, just a magical representation of him, and so Harry found himself mourning for the real man even more, because of the constant reminder.

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Dean, who had missed the speech, agreed with Harry as he reported on the extent of Snape's injuries: a broken arm, which Dean had set and spelled. Dean reported that he had put Snape in bed in the prepared cell, after changing him into bed clothes - a task Harry hadn't envied, but Dean had called it good practice.

Dean had brought Snape's clothing with him, but was forced to explain the state of the garments; the moment Dean had tried to open the sleeve to get at the arm, some repairing spells on the cloth had failed and the overcoat and coat and shirt underneath had pretty much disintegrated. Dean showed Harry the treasures that the clothing had yielded: some five unlabeled bottles of different-coloured potions, an amulet on a chain, a pouch that refused to open, a Bezoar, a razor sharp flip knife and some Wizarding money (five Knuts). After looking through the lot, Harry and Dean put the stuff away in an enchanted little wooden chest that would only open to the touch of the person, or persons, who closed it. They both touched the lid as the lock snicked shut. As a parting remark, the apprentice Healer then said something that Harry would remember the next night, "Harry, go easy on the guy, he's been through a lot."

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That night, what was left of it anyway, Harry hardly got any sleep and he knew Hermione got none at all; she had already started looking for an alternative plan, while he was still filled with the horrors of this one. Ron was the only one of their company to get a good night's sleep; nothing fazed Ron for long, it seemed.

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The next morning Harry found he'd managed to sleep about five hours after all, even after it looked like he was going to be sleepless that night. At 9 am he had a breakfast conference with Ron, Dean, Seamus and Hermione - who looked frazzled from lack of sleep - and without Luna, as she had volunteered to watch their prize prisoner. The portrait of Dumbledore was propped up against a heavy brass candlestick that stood on the bigger of the large strategy tables in the Room of Requirement. The room had served as their headquarters and dwelling - for the trio at least - from the 1st of October, when it became clear that they needed a safe place, even inside Hogwarts, where no Death Eater wannabee could eavesdrop on them.

Dumbledore's portrait had the annoying tendency to fall asleep on them at inopportune moments; it seemed the portrait magic was not inexhaustible and needed recharging once in a while. After the fiasco the night before, Harry had wanted to talk to it desperately, but the figure of the old Headmaster had stayed stubbornly asleep. And this morning it wasn't until the meeting had run a half hour already that Dumbledore woke up.

Hermione reported, in the shortest terms possible, about what happened and the painted figure had the good grace to look upset at the reported events. Harry found that its shocked response alleviated some of his own anger at having been set up to be the cause of Snape's terror. Because Harry did like to believe that he was a decent human being, even if he knew he'd probably not get out of dirtying his hands when he finally got to kill the Dark Loony. He was prepared to be smudged with a little dirt, but not with stains on his soul that doing anything like he had almost done the night before was likely to give him.

The portrait was silent for a long time before saying that they should talk to Snape. This shocked them; why talk to a Death Eater? Then the old Headmaster gave them the shock of their lives - and after what happened the night before that was saying something - the spy on whose advice they had come to rely with so much confidence was none other than Professor Snape.

 _But Snape had killed Dumbledore, how could he be a trusted and trustworthy spy?_ Their painted confederate had to explain the circumstances of his being cursed by the ring and the plan he and Snape had hatched to put Snape right in the Dark Bastard's lap at least twice, before all the people present believed him.

 _Snape was a Good Guy after all_ , Harry thought, as Dumbledore rehashed the tale for those who couldn't or wouldn't believe it the first time. _Snape was a Good Guy and as a reward they had tried to assault and molest him, even considering killing him last night._ Harry felt a cold lump in his throat and a colder hand around his heart. _How could the man ever forgive them?_

It was then that Harry let loose at the portrait: accusing the Headmaster of manipulating them into hurting a possible ally and just venting his own anxiety at what he almost had done last night. It wasn't until Dean had removed the portrait to a safer place and Ron had taken him by the shoulders and had shaken him hard that Harry suddenly felt his anger deflate, and he let Ron guide him to sit in a chair, where he sat with his head down and just breathed for a few minutes, surrounded by the loud silence of the others.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, looking up at the serious faces of his friends.

Ron stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't worry about it; it's pretty much how we all feel, I guess."

Harry nodded and would have said something more in an apology but then Luna approached and informed them Snape wanted to see Harry. The thought of facing his erstwhile teacher filled Harry with unease and as he looked at each of his friends, he saw that same feeling reflected in their eyes. It may be now they knew the man was on their side, but that didn't make him less of an ogre in any of their eyes; they all still feared their former teacher. Possibly with the exception of Luna, who gave Harry her patented ethereal smile and did not look affected at all.

"Shall we go?" she invited him, sweeping her arm in the direction of the shimmering privacy wall as she turned around and walked off in that direction. Harry felt he had no other recourse but to shore up his courage and follow her.

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Harry's talk with Snape was interesting, to say the least. For one thing Snape didn't yell at him, nor hex him - something the man might well have been able to do, even if Harry had his wand safely tucked away in that box - nor did he seriously ridicule him. He did make Harry feel uncomfortable, but that was to be expected; Snape always made his students feel uncomfortable.

Then, before Harry could tell the man that they knew all about his being a spy and an ally and that the ritual was called off, Snape was reading Harry's instruction scroll and demanding answers about the source of Hermione's research. All Harry was able to do, it seemed, was hop to it and get the man the reference books.

As Harry popped out of the 'detention area', as they'd dubbed the other side of the privacy curtain, Luna asked if Snape had finished his breakfast and they both ended up stepping back through, Harry with an arm full of books and Luna with the task of retrieving the breakfast tray.

Harry had put a finger to his lip to prevent Luna from disturbing their conversation, but as it turned out, once the professor had the books and his coffee, the rest of the world just ceased to exist. Harry tried to get the man's attention but all he got back was a wave of dismissal, so he decided to let the man read in peace; the poor guy deserved to know what they had wanted to do to him and later, if Snape so desired, Harry knew hed let the Potions Master rant at him to his heart's content; he deserved that at least. Harry knew he would take it like a man, because the very fact that Snape could rant at him meant that Snape was alive to do so, a fact that gladdened Harry more than he ever thought possible.

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Snape had Luna call Harry back less than an hour later. Harry left her on the 'open' side of the curtain as he stepped through, ready to take a licking and be grateful; they - everybody on the side of the Light - owed Snape big time for all the spying he'd done for them, for all the lives saved.

Snape, apparently, had decided to start off with a staring contest, one of Harry's least favourite things. No, he was more of a yeller or an action taker; all this passive-aggressive stuff just pissed him off. So, most probably after an interval that Snape would have called too short to determine a winner, Harry opened the conversation, by asking what he wanted.

The answer surprised him, as all things about Snape seemed to surprise him of late. The Potions Master started talking about the ritual. He had 'corrected' it, he said, as he held it out for Harry to take. _Like it was homework,_ Harry thought to himself; _some homework!_

Then the man shocked Harry again by saying, "If you promise me one thing, I will consent to take part in it."

Harry's heart seemed to stall in his chest; _Snape would do this ritual? Why?!_ But he knew the answer to 'why', it was the same answer they, Harry and his friends, had come up with for doing this goddamned ritual in the first place: because the side of Light was out of options.

Harry swallowed as he took the scroll, then his hand tightened on it as the second part of Snape's speech hit his brain. _If you promise me one thing._ What 'one thing' would Hogwarts' nastiest teacher want from him?

Harry's hand loosened around the parchment as he realized that no matter what Snape asked of him - ten years' worth of detentions served, his life, his death, his first born (he almost sniggered at that; how very much like an old Grimms' Fairy Tale!) - Harry would gladly hand it over in exchange for a chance at organizing the demise of the Dark & Despicable.

Harry asked, "What 'one thing'?"

"I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever," was what Snape said, and it surprised Harry so much he hadn't realized he'd turned around and stepped through the curtain without saying a word back to the man until he found himself being nudged by the shoulder by someone.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Even after turning his face into the direction of the query, Harry still needed long seconds to both interpret the question and place the face: 'Mione, who looked worn out.

"Yeah," he stammered, then he realized he was still holding the scroll and he handed it to her. "Snape made a few changes," he said by way of explanation, before walking off to the seating area and sitting down heavily.

 _Snape was prepared to participate in the ritual. Even though last night the man had not even realized he'd broken his own arm in his panic to get away from that very same ritual._ Harry had seen the terror in the man's eyes then and he had seen the sadness in them just now. And the underlying fear. _What kind of sheer,_ Harry looked for the right word, _courage does take to agree to do something you feared so much?_

A memory came to mind: the Headmaster and himself on that little island in that black lake in that cursed cave. Dumbledore had made him promise to keep feeding him the poisonous water, made him promise not to stop for anything. _I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever._ Snape's words were as if superimposed on Dumbledore's.

Harry sat up abruptly; he felt the same resolve to do as Snape requested as when Dumbledore had made him promise. Not just in the interest of the result - that of the ritual happening - but also out of respect for the man who requested it.

He had just gotten up from the old stuffed couch and was heading back to their designated conference table when Hermione appeared before him, as if from nowhere.

"Harry!" she said, using that I've-got-important-research-results-to-tell tone of voice. He nodded to her, indicating she could go-ahead.

"Have you read this?" she asked. And by 'this' she indicated the slightly rumpled scroll she was holding in both hands.

"No," Harry was forced to admit. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving that sort of thing to his best friend, but honestly, Harry knew he'd never be in Hermione's league where it came to information processing.

"Okay," was all she said before looking swiftly left and right, grasping his hand and pulling him towards the nearest empty bedroom - the one the twins used when they were here, which was not now. Harry followed her visual sweep of the room and all he saw was Dean and Seamus working on the Hogwarts defence plans at the smaller table and Ron looking yet again over the map of Scotland that was laid out on the main table, his hand caressing his chin in deep thought. As Hermione dragged Harry off, all three of their friends looked up from their tasks to give them curious looks. Harry could only shrug 'I dunno' back at them.

"'Mione, what?" Harry stammered as his view of the room was cut off by Hermione's closing of the bedroom door. Harry hoped Ron wouldn't get the wrong idea, especially after all the trouble he'd had getting his friend to understand that: A. Harry was totally gay and B. no, Harry wasn't in love with Ron, or even mildly interested in him in a 'gay way', as Ron had put it. The memory of the look on Ron's face almost made Harry laugh again; that was definitely a 'stays funny forever' kinda thing!

It was the serious look Hermione gave him that snapped him out of his thoughts instantly. Harry didn't like to see looks like that in the eyes of his friends: upset and profoundly sad. He grabbed her by her shoulders and asked earnestly, "What's the matter?"

She held out the scroll and said, "Read it." He took it and rolled it out. It was at least three feet long and Harry was surprised it was all written in pencil. And, as he tried to read the first line, the handwriting was so dense and uneven that he had a hard time puzzling it out. He really needed to get those new glasses.

Exasperated he rolled it back up and handed it back, "Just give me the gist of it," he asked. And then was surprised to see his best female friend turn pale. Harry knew Hermione was no shrinking violet; if she was so affected, it was bound to be bad.

Harry gritted his teeth, took a seat on the edge of George's bed - it was George's officially, but everybody knew the twins shared a bed - and repeated, "Just tell me."

Hermione sat on the edge of the other bed and started speaking. She spoke of 'tying down', of 'claiming of previous owner's marks', of 'whipping' and finally - and here she hugged herself as if cold - of 'claiming the body'.

Harry may not have been a scholar or a bookworm of any type, but he did get what she meant but wouldn't say: raping. Harry understood that in order to 'claim' Snape as his and use him as a conduit, he'd have to take him sexually.

The thought made him nervous, but not nearly as repulsed as he would have thought. In the last eight months he'd had plenty of time and freedom and available friendly bodies to have indulged in whatever sexual fantasies his budding sexuality had come up with. And with the aid of an older lover like Charlie, he'd gone well beyond his own fantasies, in a short period of time. So while he'd never thought he'd ever be 'tying up' and 'claiming' someone like Snape, the thought turned out not to be repugnant.

"So I'm to have sex with the Greasy Git, so what? I'm not worried," he stated brazenly, cocking a lopsided smile, hoping he'd look suave.

Harry quickly dropped his smile as he saw the disapproving look on Hermione's face. She crossed her arms rather theatrically and said, "Professor Snape might not be seeing it quite that way; after all he's to be the one strapped down and forcibly, well, raped." She glowered at Harry for a full twenty seconds before visibly deflating and adding, "And here's another thing that worries me," she held out the scroll before continuing, "What he wrote here, and he basically rewrote the entire ritual, there is no way he could have known all that detail if he hadn't gone through this ritual at least once, possibly more times."

Harry found himself feeling the shock he had seen in Hermione's face earlier; _Snape had been subject to this kind of ritual before? He'd been tied down like that before? Had been raped like that before?_

Harry jumped up and was out the door and on the way to the cell behind the curtain before he even knew it. All he did know was that he had to ask, he had to know. He saw Hermione follow him out of the corner of his eye, but she didn't follow him through the barrier. Once there Harry waved at Luna as she looked up at the disturbance of the field and she hopped off her chair and was gone through the barrier almost instantly.

Snape, clad in Dean's green dressing gown with pyjamas peeping out underneath that looked very much like the style Seamus liked to wear and socks and slippers, stood looking out of the entirely fake window in the left hand wall of the cell-room. He looked peaceful, standing there with a cup of coffee - or was it tea - in his good hand. The good hand that was attached to an arm with a very Bad Mark on it. That thought led Harry unerringly back to why he was here and Harry was forced to break the mood by calling attention to himself.

"Sir? How many times have you taken part in this ritual?" He didn't know why, but he had to know. He had to know how much of what he would soon be doing to the man was already part of Snape's life. The need was burning inside of him.

Harry could not look away from the haggard face for even a second as it lost what colour it had and the midnight black eyes closed as if in slow motion. Harry fully expected to be rebuffed; after all, this really wasn't any of his business, nor was it strictly necessary to know this to be able to do the ritual.

The eyes opened again and the jet black irises glittered as Snape answered, "Six times."

 _Six times. Six times tied down. Six times whipped. And six times raped._ Harry balled his fist, feeling a resolve go through him. "You have my word that this shall be the last time," he found himself saying, meaning every word of it, letting it sink into his soul as a solemn vow.

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If Harry thought things would run smoothly between them after his promise he found himself wrong, as he sat through the self requested prep meeting.

Snape was nasty and spiteful, making every question Harry had to ask more painful. But oddly, Harry felt that the Potions Master was actually trying to hold back and he was pretty sure he saw flashes of fear in the black eyes that were quickly transmuted into burning cinders of rage.

As best as Harry could, he tried to keep his questions from angering - or was it scaring - Snape further. And when the question of the potion recipe came up, Harry prided himself that he had realized Snape's writing on the scroll had been clumsy and in pencil, because the man's right hand was in that cast. And so Harry had been able to offer his services as a scribe for both potions. The fact that Snape accepted the help without sneering did not go unnoticed, even if the man found it necessary to double-check the result.

Far worse was their conversation about the, uh, sexual part of the ritual. Harry - never having had a father to have The Talk with - had actually never talked about sex with anybody. Oh, he'd had sex with quite a few people now - almost exclusively boys - and he'd done a lot of reading in some very explicit books. But talk about it? Never.

The fact that Snape was brutally blunt about the non-consensual nature of this particular sexual act was both gratifying and unnerving. Gratifying because Harry wanted, needed, to know the truth. Unnerving because Snape's candour underlined yet again that the poor guy had gone through this six times already. _No,_ Harry warned himself _, never let on that you might pity the man; he would not like it. It would be better if you didn't pity him at all,_ but Harry had to admit that that kind of callousness was not in his nature. And he really hoped it never would be.

Harry realized that all he could do for Snape was to make the ritual a success and never mention it again afterwards. He made a silent promise to do both.

The rest of Harry's questions got a bunch of non-answers. This irritated him, but then he saw the haggard look on the Potions Master's face and realized that fatigue was doing a number on them both, and he decided to finish the session.

Just before he stepped out of the cell space he remembered one last thing; he asked about the prep for penetration. Harry, over the past eight months, had become rather good at prepping his partner; he took pride in making it really pleasurable for whomever he was with. He realized, too late, the mistake he'd made in mentioning it; Snape almost exploded after first turning deathly pale. Harry fled.

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Harry distracted himself from both Snape and that which they'd be doing together soon by helping Hermione make the potions and getting the rest of the setup organized. He even took some time out to practise using that whip and that was a good thing too, as he hurt himself with it a lot more than he did the target before he got the hang of it. In the end he managed to draw blood on the conjured-up target, two times out of three. It would have to do for that day; he promised himself more time to practice the next day, so he'd be ready for tomorrow night.

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Harry came back through the privacy barrier into the room proper, seething _. Of course Snape would object to the set schedule! Snape always puts the kibosh on everything!_ Harry thought, kicking a sneakered foot out at the nearest chair, making it skid with a screech across the wood floor and hit the solid wooden table behind it with a clang. The sounds were rather soothing to Harry's fried nerves.

After the chair had come a to complete standstill, Harry realized the unnatural silence of the room. He lifted his head and saw all present - Ron, Hermione, Dean and Seamus - give him a questioning look. He shrugged his shoulders and could only say, "Snape says it's got to be tonight." He could have added his personal opinion on that, but he did realize that the Potions Master's argument had been valid and even if it hadn't been, they needed Snape's co-operation and therefore his wishes would be catered to as far as possible.

Harry saw Hermione's lips form a straight line as her brow knit in thought. She crossed her arms and said, "If needs must, it can be done." She dropped her arms and added, "We'll need to double up on tasks, though."

Harry recognized that tone of voice; it meant everybody was likely to be hopping busy from now on. And it turned out he was a hundred percent right.

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By the time the potions were finished, the room had been rearranged, the ceiling spelled to show the real sky, all the participants in the chanting Circle gathered, the new chant's lines learned and rehearsed, all the equipment set up, all tools cleaned and blessed, there wasn't any time left to practice with the whip, as it was already after 5:45.

Harry quickly changed into his own white robe, feeling odd wearing nothing underneath. He helped Luna tie her belt at the back and was informed that Snape had been given some privacy to change.

At 5:56 Harry stepped through the privacy barrier to give the professor his curtain call. He was shocked to see the pale face on the man, almost whiter than the robe he wore, clutched closed around him.

Harry was actually embarrassed and even angry that Snape had to remind him he'd promised to spell the man ready. And red hot anger suddenly surged through him at the tone his former professor used. _What right did he have to yell at me like that?!_

In anger Harry gave Snape just what he'd asked for. As he was casting, he realized the spell came out a little too hard, anger tingeing the magic a little more green than Professor Flitwick would have approved of. He was sure it would have been uncomfortable for Snape and all he could think through the red haze of rage was: _good._

He cast the Lubricus with a little more care and saw Snape flinch as the orange spell light hit, the greasy hair - which apparently had gone unaffected by the cleaning charm - falling over the now even paler face as the man lowered his head.

Harry couldn't help saying "Is that what you wanted?" before getting a hold of his anger. _Yes_ , he thought, _Snape was unpleasant, yes, deserved to get what he gives._ But never had Harry heard that Snape had raped or murdered, so he didn't deserve that. The thought instantly snapped Harry out of his rage, just in time to get verbally chucked out by a Snape who, Harry saw, was bent almost double over the small table, his hands holding on the edges pale and trembling. The whole form was trembling.

"Get out, now!" Snape's panicked yell startled Harry into action; he got out as fast as he could.

Just beyond the barrier stood Luna, her ever-present smile looking a bit flat. He told her Snape wasn't feeling well and watched her step through the barrier directly, leaving him wondering why he'd sent her; after all, Snape always seemed to have loathed her.

Harry just stood still for some minutes, watching the gathered group making the very last preparations and generally getting nervous. Then all of a sudden he couldn't stand it any more and stuck his head through the barrier.

Snape still stood by the table, still holding on to it with both hands. But now Luna stood close next to him, close but not touching him, and his hair was stuck to his forehead where he'd lifted his head up with his eyes closed as he took deep breaths. It looked oddly serene, calming. Then Luna spoke, "Look at me."

At the command Snape turned his head towards her and opened his eyes. The curtain of greasy hair prevented Harry from gauging the professor's mood, which disappointed Harry. But he realized that it also prevented Snape from seeing him, which, at this point, was a plus point; no need to antagonize the man more.

Harry could forgive the man his outburst earlier; he had totally forgotten that Snape's wand was safely tucked away in Harry's care. And that as a wizard, being without one's wand was like being without an arm or leg; it made you feel a lesser man; it made you feel defenceless.

Just what Snape didn't need right at this moment. And in hindsight it didn't surprise Harry at all that the man had lashed out at Harry for doing for him what he should be able to do himself: a simple cleaning charm.

Then Harry heard Luna say, _"Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis_." The first line of the chant. Snape's lower male voice joined Luna's light female one in the next line, _"Hic Veneficus futurus libere."_ Harry suddenly held hope that it would all work out; Luna was helping Snape get ready for the ritual, and Harry realized he ought to be doing the same.

So he withdrew his head and called "Places, everyone!" The command caused everyone to scurry to their assigned places: Harry - as main participant - and Hermione - as ritual leader - stood on the right side facing the designated part of the barrier they had marked out as its opening. Both wore white robes with nothing underneath; Hermione's was belted with silver, his was held together with a single button. On the left stood Dean and Seamus, who were to act as assistants, wearing black robes with blue belts over their normal clothing. The rest of the participants would be part of the chanting circle, and they were dressed in black robes with hoods up, over their regular clothing. They had spread out to form a wide circle around the altar, with a wide gap near the barrier, to serve as an opening that would be closed as soon as all participants had stepped inside. At the other side of the circle there was a small gap, the size of a missing person, which had been left open for Luna who - as high priestess - would lead the chanting.

The fact that Luna was not yet where she was supposed to be caused a hesitation in starting the chant. But then the barrier shimmered and Snape and Luna appeared from its depths and were already chanting, _"... profugus. Huic locus est pacis."_ The other chanters joined in immediately with the next line: _"Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis."_

Snape stopped moving forward but continued chanting _"hic Veneficus futurus libere,"_ once he'd cleared the barrier completely. Luna moved past Harry, stopped for a moment and raised her arms, chanting the next few lines - _"Nostrum sententia es videlicet. Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus. Nos factum ut unus."_ \- before moving onwards to take her place in the Circle; Harry took a good long look at his former teacher.

The Potions Master wore the white robe in much the same way Harry did, held closed by its single button. The V neckline of the robe revealed his naked chest underneath with a thin splattering of dark hair. His feet were still bare and as pale as the rest of him. His face, while pale, didn't look as haggard as it had a few minutes earlier; all the muscles in it seemed to have relaxed and his eyes shone with an odd tranquillity, gazing as if unseeing into the farthest distance.

Harry - and Dean and Seamus, being there to assist only - were not obliged to take part in the chanting. Nor was Snape, if Harry had understood the Master Spy's instructions correctly. But somehow it seemed to help the man cope and Harry was glad he had at least that much. Harry himself was not tempted to join the chanting; he hadn't had time to learn the lines nor the meaning - though 'Mione had told him it was all quite positive - so he didn't bother to join in. Instead he settled in to observe until it was time do his part. Not something he exactly looked forward to, but needs must.

As the chanting continued, for a while it looked as if nothing was happening. Dean and Seamus, who had moved to either side of Snape, first gave each other a questioning look, then they turned their query filled eyes on Harry, who was also unsure when to start the proceedings. He was about to give them the signal to begin when Snape moved his left hand and popped the button on his robe, shouldering it off so it fell to the floor in a puddle of white silk.

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Several gasps could be heard behind Harry and to his left, but they hardly registered with him as he looked at his former teacher's scarred and emaciated body. _'Harry, go easy on the guy, he's been through a lot.'_ Dean's words came back to him; Dean would have seen this when he took care of the man last night. The front of the man was disfigured with two great whip scars running from his left shoulder to his right hip. They were in an almost perfect parallel formation and Harry wondered if they had been created with a single stroke of some kind of double tailed whip. Having now had his own experience with learning how to wield one, Harry's mind boggled at the skill it would take to use such a whip.

Dean and Seamus took Snape's action as a clear signal to start. They each took an arm and marched their 'prisoner' towards the padded bench that would serve as their altar. Harry followed their progress with wide eyes and as Snape's back came into view Harry found that after all the shocks that had come before, he could still be shocked again: the man's back was a mess of scars. Some were like the marks on his front - whip marks - but not all. There was a clearly recognizable six-inch claw mark - four lines spanning five inches at least - on his right shoulder blade and there was a rough patch - a severe burn maybe - down his left buttock and hip.

The macabre procession halted at the altar and Dean and Seamus started by bending the still chanting Snape over the bench. At this point Harry remembered he was to take the aphrodisiac, so it could take effect and not clash with the Aura potion he would take later. It was now he really could appreciate that Snape had insisted that he'd need it; he'd had so many shocks today that he wasn't sure he'd be interested in sex for quite some time. And the thought of sex with Snape had not put Harry off, nor indeed did seeing the man's body, damage and all. No, it was the possible causes that could have produced those scars that did; that, and the certain knowledge that none of it had been done with Snape's consent. And that even this ritual was not wholly consensual on Snape's part; Snape participated willingly because there was no other option; what kind of a choice is that?

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Taking the aphrodisiac had the side effect of calming Harry's nerves, well apart from doing what was said on the bottle. Passively he watched his friends tie his former teacher down tightly, in such a fashion that Harry'd be able to get at all the most important parts of the man. For most of the time that this process took, Harry had his eyes glued to the - to his - most important bit and Harry's lower regions wholeheartedly agreed with the choice of view.

As Dean and Seamus finally stepped away - Dean to stand by with his Healer's bag over his shoulder, Seamus moving next to the small table, ready to hand Harry what he would need, when he would need it - Harry stepped forward and accepted the Aura potion Dean handed to him. He drank the bitter liquid down in one draught and handed the empty to Seamus, who efficiently put it in the large bowl they'd designated a 'waste' bowl, that sat on the lower shelf under the table proper.

Harry knew he had to wait for the Aura-seeing potion to take effect. For long minutes he just stood there, surrounded by chanters, looking at his victim, hoping to see whatever it was he was supposed to see. _Aura Seeing,_ Harry thought, _should be part of Divination, shouldn't it? If only Trelawney had bothered to teach them this sort of thing in class!_ If only Harry hadn't dropped Divination as soon as he possibly could.

Harry was about to get pissed with the waiting - just watching Snape struggle for breath under those tight belts had lost its charm quite quickly - when he spied a red glow coming off one of the larger scars on the man's back. In the instructions it said Harry was to touch a premade ointment - to which some drops of Harry's blood had been added - to each glowing piece of skin, to symbolically, well, not so much claim ownership, as more of a disowning of the skin and flesh from the previous owners, so Harry could claim it properly with the whip and the rape later on.

Harry shuddered at the thought of that rape, even if his body - doused as it was in aphrodisiac - was definitely looking forward to it. As the differently coloured glowing marks became more prominent Harry held out his left hand to Seamus, ready to receive the hand-sized bowl of ointment.

Harry got to work covering the red and the yellow and the blue glowing marks with the slippery ointment, seeing each area turn an emerald green. As he worked he wondered idly if green was 'his' colour. And if that was so, then red would be the Dark & Dreary's, because all the whip marks were glowing red. The animal gouge on Snape's shoulder glowed yellow and Harry found another yellow - a different yellow - glow on an area that didn't seem to have a blemish to match on first glance, but on closer look, Harry could see another claw mark, much smaller than the first.

Getting to the two parallel scars at the front, which were now glowing brightly red, was not easy, but he finally managed. As he stepped back and handed Seamus the nearly empty bowl, Harry saw Snape's back glow with splotches of green. All except the Dark Mark, which glowed a fiery red.

Rubbing his fingers all over Harry's old teacher had been a weird experience. Not exactly repulsive, stimulating really, Harry realized, though he was very happy to attribute that to the effectiveness of the aphrodisiac, which still had Harry's anatomy raring to go. _Soon,_ he promised his lower half.

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The whipping was both easier and harder than Harry had expected. Helped by the relaxing effect of the aphrodisiac, Harry found he could neatly place two just bleeding lines on the Potions Master's back. What he had not been prepared for was the ripple in the man's flesh the blows would produce, nor the extent the lines ran up and down the scarred back, leaving red weals behind where the skin had not broken. And he was wholly surprised that the bucking of the body against the pain made the entire padded bench jump.

In his mind he knew that whipping someone would hurt, but to see it, well, that was very different. As he watched Snape writhe against the pain, Harry just dropped the bloodied whip from numb fingers, having to actively stop himself from casting an Incendio at it, for fear of ruining the ritual. Instead he promised himself that he never, EVER, would use such a thing on a person again.

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Harry knew time was of the essence, but he needed a minute or so to regain his composure. He was well aware that while the chanters were busy chanting, Dean and Seamus were waiting for him to go to the next stage: the raping.

The very thought robbed Harry of his breath, and not in a good way either. Suddenly he hated that aphrodisiac for keeping him sexually aroused and even for its now failed tranquilizing effect. All he wanted was to quit this horror, and he moved to turn away.

 _'I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever.'_ Snape's words.

 _'You have my word that this shall be the last time.'_ His own words.

He had promised. And it was necessary _. God, how he was starting to hate that word!_ Harry turned back and undid his robe, slipping it off and handing it to Seamus. He then looked over to Dean, held out his right hand and demanded, "Lubricant," knowing from personal experience that Dean had a good slippery one in his bag.

 _'This situation is hardly going to be comfortable for me, Potter.'_ Harry heard the memory in his mind.

 _Well, that's what you think, but I'm not going to take you in pain. I may not be able to do it in true pleasure, but I WILL NOT give you unnecessary pain,_ Harry thought with grim determination as he measured out a substantial amount of lube out of the jar and set to work on stretching Snape for penetration.

It was more than slightly unnerving that the Potions Master did not in any way react to Harry's efforts but just kept that half-lidded look to the side, that being the position the man's head had been strapped down in. The only tension Harry could see was on the man's neck, caused by the somewhat extreme angle and the steadily further reddening of the skin around the Dark Mark, reinforced by the red glow that Harry still could perceive, thanks to the Aura potion.

Finally Harry felt he had stretched Snape's entrance enough so he felt he would avoid the pain and he lined himself up, still fully hard - leave it to Snape to come up with a recipe for a potion that was guaranteed to work, no matter how inappropriate the situation - and sank into the warm depth.

Harry's body was elated and for a few moments he just indulged in a few languid strokes in and out. But then he forced his mind back to the ritual; next he was to _'cast the best spell through the Dark Mark at the target'_ How the hell was he supposed to do that? Snape had said that he didn't know. But Harry didn't know either, and in the meantime no clue had come to him to push him in the right direction.

But maybe it had for Snape. Harry asked Seamus for his wand, grasping it in his left hand. And, while keeping the penetration intact, he draped himself over the warm scarred back - getting smeared along his whole front along the way - and put his mouth next to Snape's left ear. He had to call several times before anything happened at all and when it did, Harry was surprised to find Snape's voice to come from inside his own head, not from the man's mouth.

Harry tried to form words in his mind to answer Snape, but it was fully as hard as trying to learn Occlumency, at which, incidentally, he'd failed at rather spectacularly. After several failed attempts he started to use his voice to say the words while he thought them. It had been an attempt to vent his growing frustration, rather than an attempt to get the communication to work, but miraculously it did improve his skill enough that Snape could make out what Harry tried to ask.

However, the answer the Potions Master gave appeared to be hardly helpful: _/Just go through the Mark. Place your wand and push though. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!/_ Harry bristled at the name calling and maybe that was what gave him enough strength to do literally as his most hated teacher demanded. He flipped his wand around and held it as though it was an ice pick and then plunged it dead centre into the left eye of the inked skull of the Dark Mark.

The wand was glowing bright green as it sank though the Mark and Snape's arm, like a hot knife though the softest butter. Blood started to well up around the entry wound and first it pooled there and then it ran in rivulets off either side of Snape's horizontally strapped arm, where it met the drip that was running from the exit wound down the pointy end of the wand as it protruded out of the back of the arm. Harry nearly lost his lunch at the sight of the blood dripping unto the wooden floor beneath.

 _/Aim and fire!/_ Snape's voice rang in his head, just as Seamus thrust the big bowl - after dumping out the garbage they'd put in it - under the drip. _Aim at what?_

 _/The Red Light! There in front of us!/_ Severus screamed inside of Harry's head, giving him an instant headache. Harry ignored the pain, the nausea and Seamus' shocked green tinged face that came into his view. _There is nothing there! I see nothing!_ he thought back as hard as he could.

For some moments nothing more happened than the continued eerie dripping of the blood down Harry's wand. Harry was still holding it ice-pick style, unwilling to let go of it lest it make the wound worse.

"Uh, Harry," came from Harry's right. It was Dean's voice but Harry didn't want to move so much as his head, just in case he missed a communication from Snape.

"Let me heal that," Dean said, sounding almost pleading. But still Harry held still, waiting.

"No," he said with finality. "Snape told me to do this, he'll know what to do next." _Here's hoping anyway._

Another few minutes passed and the bowl now had about an inch of fluid in the bottom. Harry knew that that sort of measurement wasn't very much yet, but the next inch would, due to the shape of the bowl, cover a much wider diameter and therefore represent a lot more blood. Snape had better come up with a strategy soon, or Harry would be forced to call off the ritual.

 _'It must not be stopped for any reason whatsoever.'_ The memory echoed in his mind once more. _Well, then, think of something, you greasy bastard!_

Then Harry felt a tug on his wand and he was sure he hadn't moved, nor was anybody near him, nor could Snape have moved; he was too tightly bound. Harry took a good look at the point where the wand had pierced the flesh and was relieved to see the damage hadn't gotten any worse.

Then he heard Snape's voice in his head, _/Let me guide your wand./_ Harry was puzzled by this - how could Snape guide anything, tied up like this - but gave his consent. What he felt next was something he would never be able to describe later, because he simply couldn't understand it while it was happening. While he was holding absolutely still, with Snape tied up beyond the hope of movement underneath him, he felt his hand move, his wand point in an, to him, arbitrary direction.

His hand was moving, while it was completely still at the same time. Then it stopped and it felt to Harry as if the whole world suddenly shifted around him, just to realign his still hand with the moved hand. It was a recipe for instant nausea and Harry forced the bile down as best he could. Then his nausea evaporated as he was suddenly infused with a wave of pure power. _/Cast the spell!/_ he heard in his mind and he obeyed instantly, letting out all that power in a bright green lethal spell.

Harry might not have been able to see the target before, but when the spell hit, he saw the green spell explode a stationary red star almost in slow motion, and then the explosion started imploding into a deep black hole and underneath him he could feel Snape - the essence of him, not his body - being pulled away though the Mark on his arm.

 _No!_ Harry screamed in his mind and he let go of his wand, only to put his hand over the evil red glowing Mark on Snape's arm. _No!_ He was not letting that madman have Snape, _Snape was his!_

Harry's hand gripped tightly, preventing Snape's essence from passing though the conduit. He felt Voldemort pull violently on the Mark, still he held on. He felt Snape - his body - start to buck in convulsions under him, but still he held on. He imagined he could feel jet black tendrils wrapping around Snape trying to capture Harry himself as well, but still he held on.

He held on as the world seemed to go black altogether and Snape let out a eardrum-shattering scream, thinking they'd at least be going together into death. Then the dark receded and Snape lay deathly still underneath him, eyes closed, but breathing, if shallowly. And Harry came in tune with his own body, all sticky with sweat and blood and that disgusting ointment.

"Harry?" Seamus's voice from his left. The world started to register again with Harry as he looked about the now completely silent room, while leveling himself up from his position of lying over Snape. His left hand came away from Snape's arm, dripping with blood. He looked at it for a moment and the nodded to Seamus first and then to Dean he said, "I think we did it. Go clean him up."

It really wasn't until he'd said it, _we did it,_ that he realized that they had.

oqpodboqpo

Cleaning up was a rather grisly experience. Dean quickly established that Snape wasn't dead and that the blood loss was not life-threatening, but to everyone present, human blood is awfully red and nearly everyone in the group was seriously nauseated.

Harry left Dean to take care of Snape while he let Seamus and Hermione clean him up by spell and by hand; they spelled him into some clothes, a hastily transfigured dark red Muggle style jogging suit with the Hogwarts crest over the heart at the front and a bigger version on the back. Harry was very grateful for the quick cover up; it made him feel instantly clean and warm and definitely on the side of the Light.

"Harry?" Dean drew his attention just as he'd stretched his back to get the kink out of it from having bent over like that. He left Seamus and Hermione to deal with the rest of the clean-up and quickly looked 'round to see how the others did. He caught Luna's eye and she nodded as she was talking quietly with the complete chanters group gathered around, apparently riveted by whatever it was she was saying.

He cleared his throat loudly, drawing everybody's attention - except for Dean's, who kept to his task of caring for the wounded, just as Harry expected of him.

"Everyone, thank you for taking part in the uh, nasty business. I'm sure you'll all be glad to know that I think we succeeded; I think the Dark Whatsit is dead, finally!" He stopped to take a new breath and everyone gave a cheer. He continued, "However, we'll have to wait for proper confirmation before we start spreading this news around; who knows, I could be wrong." There were some sniggers at that. Harry was gratified to know all his friends trusted his word so much, _but it would be smart to be a little prudent,_ he thought.

"There is one other thing," he continued. "I consider what happened here tonight as part of our oath of silence for DA business." He gave everybody a serious look, letting his gaze sweep the entire group, some of whom were still smiling after their cheer. "You'll appreciate that when Professor Snape wakes up, he's likely to be seriously pissed off if he finds that people - people other than us - know about what we tried to do to him last night and did do to him tonight. In fact, if _any_ adult finds out the exact nature of what happened here, we all stand a good chance of ending up in Azkaban." He looked the group over again and now met nothing but serious faces; they all got the warning, Harry felt.

It was Cho who asked, "Should we reaffirm our vow? I'm willing to do that, if you think it's necessary," she added in her shy tone of voice.

Harry gave that idea a moment's thought. They had all sworn an oath of secrecy at the inception of the DA, a few years back. This group had sworn again at the start of the school year, back in September.

"No," he said with conviction. "A full vow isn't necessary at this moment. I think, if Snape wants one, we should be prepared to take a vow to him personally. But for now a simple promise will do." He drew himself up to his full height, put his hand on his heart and said solemnly, "I promise to keep what happened in the last forty-eight hours in this room a secret." Then he stood as everybody present - again except Dean - stood straighter and, hand on heart, as a chorus repeated his words.

He then turned his attention to Dean, who had unstrapped Snape - still unconscious - and had levitated him to a padded table the room had magicked for their need. Snape was already dressed in the same pyjamas as earlier, but was oddly enough laid out on his front instead of his back. Then Harry remembered the whip marks he had had to put on the Potions Master's back and he tried not to feel the shudder of revulsion at the memory of having had to do such a thing to another human being.

Dean was sitting perched on a high stool with Snape's naked left arm in his lap, with the pyjama sleeve rolled all the way up the arm so he could work on cleaning the exit wound. Harry took a peek over his friend's shoulder; the wound looked like a perfect red circle about a quarter inch wide. Now that it wasn't bleeding, it had lost its horror and Harry could look at it without wanting to toss his cookies.

"Dean," he said. His friend looked up from his work and said matter-of-factly, "Oh by the way, I promised too." Harry nodded. And Dean continued talking, "And meanwhile, you may want to look at this." He then, very carefully, turned over the arm and on the front was, apart from a matching circular red hole, a bright red lifesize hand print sitting just where Harry's own hand had grasped Snape's arm in order to stop the Dark & Now Dead from dragging Snape with him into Hell, or wherever that blackness would have led.

Harry raised his own left hand, turned it so he could see the back of it, curled his fingers into roughly the grip he had used, and compared it with the imprint. It was an exact match. _Oh, Merlin!_ Snape was going to kill him when he found that Harry had marked him!

oqpodboqpo

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tuesday, January 13th 1998, about 1:45 pm.

 

Harry and Hermione had finally extricated themselves from the sticky congratulatory party in the Headmistress' office and where on their way back to the Victory party in the Room of Requirement, when Harry's neck hairs unaccountably stood on end, sending a cold shiver down his spine; something was going horribly wrong, he could feel it!

 

He broke into a dead run and was aware of Hermione's footfalls behind him, starting after only the smallest hesitation, as he barrelled down the Hogwarts' empty hallways.

 

"Harry!" her breathless voice caught up with him. "Something's wrong!" he shouted over his shoulder at her, not checking any of his speed. He had to swerve hard as he turned back his head and found himself almost colliding with a marble statue of some grotesque figure dressed up in a stone monk's robe.

 

He rounded corners, took the stair three steps at a time and went all out on the straight stretch that led directly to the half open doors of the Room of Requirement. At the doors he skidded to a halt.

 

At his sudden arrival, the group of fellow DA members blocking his view split off to the sides, carving a direct line of sight to one very pale and stricken looking Snape.  _Oh effin' heck, he knows about the Mark!_

 

Harry started walking again, picking up speed as he strode through the Room. He knew Snape had every right to read him the Riot act after finding himself Marked like that and Harry was fully prepared to let him do his damnedest, but Harry wasn't too keen on having an audience, even if they were all his friends and class mates. So moved as quickly as he could and once he'd come close enough he spelled the privacy barrier back in place behind him, leaving him effectively alone with his former teacher, whose eyes were like saucers in his pale face.

 

Harry stopped walking one step inside the barrier and braced himself to weather a tirade. But none came. Instead Harry saw Snape's wide gaze fall before the man dropped down to one knee, grasped the hem of Harry's school robe and brought it up to his lips to kiss.

 

"No!" Harry jerked the material out of the Potion Master's grasp violently.  _I'm not Voldemort!_ He had to work hard for a full minute to regain some semblance of calm, all the while watching a tiniest of tremors going through Snape's otherwise completely still, kneeling frame, the yellows stained hand still out, the greasy head still down, a curtain of hair obscuring the face. 

 

Harry breathed out forcefully one time and said, "Don't do that. I'm not  _him_ ." At the words Harry saw a more noticeable shudder go through Snape's bowed form and it almost looked like Snape shrunk into himself some more as the man retracted his arm and pressed it to his chest.  _Drat, I'm just scaring him,_ Harry thought.

 

"Get up," he commanded; he suddenly couldn't stand seeing Snape on his knees. Harry was shocked at the speed by which his former teacher shot up. Snape was taller than Harry by three inches at least but as the man attained his full height, Harry noticed he kept his head bowed and his shoulders down, so as to appear smaller. Again that irritated Harry immensely; Snape was trying to achieve the same submissive situation in this stance as he had in the kneeling and hem-kissing and Harry found that he didn't like it at all.

 

Harry had never liked being worshipped. He had certainly never liked being despised - who does? - but somehow, over his experiences of both in the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds, he had come to understand that they were really two sides of the same coin.

 

"Head up," Harry commanded. Snape was slower to respond this time and when Harry could finally make eye contact, he could see why; there was stark fear in the glittering black eyes.  _Drat, drat, double drat._ How was Harry going to fight that? 

 

_Start as you mean to go on._ Harry remembered hearing that advice some time ago. He couldn't place who said it or why, but it seemed like a very good idea right now; fully the best he had, because he surely had no other.

 

Harry lifted his chin, held the gaze firmly and said, "I'm not him. Nor do I want to be him. Nor do I want servitude from you or from anybody." He softened his gaze. "What I want is friendship and if that is not possible between us right now, I will settle for peaceful co-existence. If that's agreeable to you," he added, having used up his puff of courage.

 

Harry anxiously waited, observing a whole scala of emotions pass through those dark eyes in the otherwise entirely inexpressive face. Fear gave way to puzzlement, then doubt, then anger, then more fear which was held onto for quite some time before it evaporated in something Harry could only read as resignation.

 

Snape gave a single nod, by way of answer and promptly stepped away from him turning towards the window, walking the three steps and leaning against the window frame, his gaze on the grey world outside.

 

It was not what Harry would have wanted, ideally, but he was fully prepared to take co-existence, if that was the only thing Snape could give him. Harry nodded to himself to seal his resolve.

 

oqpodboqpo

 

Ron gave Harry a red faced, but informative report on what had happened with the Aurors, after Harry had stepped back through the barrier once more and had joined him and Hermione at the main table. The trio was sitting down, while some of the others stood around, listening in.

 

"Look, the only way out I saw was to tell 'm he wasn't a Death Eater, after all he hasn't got the Mark anymore," his redheaded friend explained.

 

"No, but he's got my Mark," Harry added, thoughtfully.

 

"Yeah, well, I hadn't counted on them wanting to check right away and then it was too late to stop them." Ron paused. Harry felt a broad hand on his shoulder, Ron's. "I'm sorry, mate. I do hope Snape hasn't given you a headache?"

 

"No, he wasn't too bad," Harry answered distracted by his own thoughts.  _What a way for the man to find out. Nobody deserves that._

 

oqpodboqpo

 

About half an hour later the Aurors were back. Harry had let the Magic barrier stay up, so Snape could have some privacy. Not that Harry knew for sure the Potion master might want that privacy, nor was he going disturb him to find out; he'd gotten away without being yelled at least twice today, tempting the man for third time sounded like a Bad Idea.

 

But now with the Aurors' return - this time  _with_ a legally worded warrant - Harry was forced to disturb Snape's solitude once more. 

 

He left Ron and Hermione, both with a mischievous glint in their eyes - Ron does so hate being bested and 'Mione does so hate perceived injustice - in charge of 'entertaining' the Aurors, while he stepped through the curtain.

 

Snape was still looking out the window, this time warming his hands around a coffee cup. Harry spied the rest of the coffee set - pot, milk jug, sugar, saucer, plate of chocolate digestives, all in white porcelain decorated with the Hogwarts Crest - sitting on a round tray on the small table.

 

He turned his gaze back to Snape who hadn't moved at all, since Harry had come in. "Sorry Sir, I'm afraid those Aurors are back. And this time their warrant's good," he added apologetically.

 

Harry stayed silent as Snape pushed himself away from the window frame, turned around, moved to table to place down the cup delicately and gathered up his teaching robes from where they had been draped over the back of the straight backed chair.

 

"Well, lead on, Mr. Potter," the Potion Master said, giving him a neutral look.

 

Harry wasn't quite ready to let it go at that, so instead of turning around and walking off he held his ground and said, "You needn't go if you don't want to." He caught the man's puzzled gaze and continued, "We will stop them from taking you, if it comes to that. We all know you are innocent."

 

The puzzlement disappeared and a firmness replaced it. "No, Mr. Potter. Stopping them would be foolhardy. And anyway, I  _am_ guilty of," here Harry could see the man's Adam's apple bob, "killing the Headmaster. You were there yourself; you saw me do it."

 

"But there were mitigating circumstances!" Harry argued.

 

"Yes, maybe. But those can only be properly heard in a Court of Law, which is exactly where the Aurors wish to bring me," Snape said levelly.

 

Harry had to admit to the soundness of the argument, but at the same time his gut was screaming at him to not let the Aurors take Snape. It left him undecided as to what to do.

 

In the mean time Snape had moved past Harry and Harry had to turn around to answer Snape's next question, because the man was standing directly in front of the barrier, one hand up in front of him almost touching the shimmering Magic.

 

"Can I pass through freely?" Snape asked.

 

Harry had not for one moment considered that Snape hadn't know he was free after the bars had disappeared. Had the man stayed behind the curtain for the past hour, because he hadn't know it wouldn't stop him leaving?

 

"Of course!" Harry said.

 

Snape gave one nod of understanding and stepped through. Harry hurried after him, stepping through in the spot nearest his location, coming out the other side just to Snape's left.

 

"... arrest warrant for Severus Tobias Snape, charged with the murder of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts on Monday, June 30th 1997, at Hogwarts. By order of the Wizengamot, on this day, the 13th of January, 1998, you are called to accompany us to the Wizengamot holding cells, where you will bound over for the duration of you trial," a round bellied red-robed Auror boomed, holding a scroll up from which he read, showing of years of experience of reading out proclamations.

 

Two other Aurors had come with the Round Belly and all three stood in the middle of the Room, facing Snape and now also Harry, who drew up beside his former teacher, leaving two feet between them. All around stood the members of the DA and by their faces Harry could tell they were willing to join him in a fight if he chose to start one.

 

Next to Harry, Snape stepped forward and said, "I'm ready." The two flanking Aurors came forward, taking up space on either side of the Potion Master and Harry hopped quickly out of the way. Several of the DA members closest to Harry, Ron among them, gave him a look of  _'should we attack?'_ but Harry shook his head. Letting them arrest Snape still didn't sit right with him, but if this was that the man wanted, it was not his place to stop him. 

 

From Harry's new vantage point, now being part of the DA crowd, Harry could see Round Belly step up to Snape demanding, "Your wand please."

 

"I have it," Harry said, seeing no point in making the man search Snape for it. Round Belly turned 'round and looked down at Harry crossly. "Well, let's have it," the man boomed.

 

Harry hesitated. He seriously didn't want to give this guy anything and most especially not Snape's wand. If the Aurors got the man's wand and did some back checking on it, Merlin knew what they might find! After all, Snape spent the last 8 months or so, trying to get Volde-whatsit to believe he was a loyal Death Eater; he might have had to do some drastic things to keep up the pretence!

 

"Is seizure of the wand listed on the warrant?" came over Harry's right shoulder; Ron's voice.  _Thank you, Ron._ Harry exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

 

He looked on as Round Belly's face turned as red as his robes. "You again! Keep out of this, son, or I'll arrest you for obstruction!" the man bellowed at a totally unfazed Ron.

 

"Would you arrest me for obstruction?" Harry asked the man in an innocent voice. "You? Who are you?" the man asked incredulously, but then one of the other Aurors whispered something in Round Belly's ear and the man seemed to deflate.

 

"Mr. Potter," he started, sounding almost respectful. Almost.

 

"If the wand isn't listed in your warrant, it will be kept safe by me," Harry said reasonably, "or do you have any valid objections to that?"

 

As the man was momentarily stumped for words, Harry could see his former teacher stand behind the Auror, with one of the secondary Auror beside him while the other was still whispering something in Round Belly's ear. Snape looked tired and pale and Harry could almost feel the fatigue that was pouring off the man.  _This shouldn't drag on much longer, for Snape's sake at least._

 

At last Round Belly puffed once and said, "Fine.  _You_ take responsibility for it.  _You_ are here by officially charged to produce it when the Wizengamot demands, with NO EXCUSES." The last words came out as thunder, but Harry was used to far better tirades than this man could produce and it was easy to keep his face still and unaffected.

 

"Why, certainly," Harry said. He knew full well that, short of absconding with the wand and never returning to the British Isles ever again, he'd have to give it to the Wizengamot when they officially asked him for it. But not one second before.

 

Round Belly seemed satisfied with that and he turned away from Harry, barking, "We're going," at the other two Aurors who had Snape in between them, with the Potion Master's arms twisted behind his back. Harry could only just see it happening and he was about to object to it when he met Snape's black gaze.  _'Stop interfering,'_ it seemed to say and Harry subsided, letting the Aurors escort the bravest and proudest man he knew away to trial.

 

oqpodboqpo

 

Some hours later Harry was incredibly sorry he'd let Snape go without a fight. Ron, Hermione, McGonagall and Harry himself had spend all that time trying to get even the most basic information on Snape's arrest. Things like: when's the trial,  _where_ 's the trial? Where was Snape being held? When could they visit him? Who was allowed to visit him? How were they expected to defend him, if they couldn't even visit him?

 

All their question seemed to get deflected and buried in a mountain of Owl-post replies. The only pieces of information they did manage to obtain was that the Muggle idea of making bail didn't seem to exist under Wizarding Law and that the only possible hope they had of getting any other questions answered was to retain Wizarding Law Council on Snape's behalf.

 

The Headmistress was able to give them some help in that regard; she knew some one who knew some one who knew where to find such 'Law Speakers'. Turned out that most of the two dozen Law Speakers that Wizarding Britain had, congregate every day at a Wizarding pub right inside the Ministry of Magic Building after work.

 

So that is where the trio headed next. And were promptly were swamped by Wizards and Witches - some just curious, some official looking, some from the press - all wanting to know more about how the Dark Lord had been vanquished.

 

Realizing they was not going to get through without giving them something, Harry called for silence from the crowd and rehashed the story he and Hermione

had fed the Minister of Magic and his pals earlier that day. But this time Harry ramped up Snape's importance in the proceedings. Apparently no one in the crowd knew of Snape's arrest and Harry decided to not mention it either; he wasn't sure this mob might turn on them if it appeared he was defending the man who was now officially accused of Dumbledore's murder.

 

oqpodboqpo

 

After all that, going to the 'Law Speaker's Tea Room' as the place was called - quite erroneously, because there was nothing served there that had less than 4% alcohol in it - was a total bust. Here they  _did_ know of Snape's arrest and no one wanted to touch the case with a ten foot pole.

 

The trio had tried to convince the Law Speakers on a one-on-one basis for hours, but finally at 11 pm there was just no one left to talk to: they all had refused to take the case, no matter how much money Harry had offered. The trio sat at one of the small brown round tables, in the dark all brown wood clad pub, with its brown stained wooden bar with brass trimmings, lit by Magic light caught in Victorian style gas-type-lamps. Each of them was nursing a Butter Beer; that being the only drink all three were familiar with and that was light enough not to get them drunk.

 

Harry hadn't touched his; he just didn't like the taste of alcohol much, maybe because his uncle had stank of it on the weekends. He was just about to get up and try and convince the barman to give him some water when a Witch appeared next to him.

 

"Excuse me," she said, "You are Mr. Potter I assume?" looking hopefully at him.

 

At this Harry turned around to face the young woman, only a few years older than himself, brown hair, brown eyes, well dressed if a bit dowdy and looking very much the traditional Witch. All together she presented a nice package. And if he had been interested in a nice female package, well, then... But he wasn't and his heart sank at the thought of having to turn her down; he did so hate to disappoint.

 

"I'm sorry, Miss, but we're here on private business," he told her.

 

"Oh, but I think I can help," she said, "I'm Felicity Dunsmore, I'm a law clerk at Law Speaker Erskine's office. I've talked to my boss and he's interested in your case."

 

oqpodboqpo

 

After Harry had triple checked with Miss Dunsmore - "Oh, call me Felicity!" - that her boss was aware that it was Snape's case and not his - there had been confusion earlier that evening, where some one had accepted but than had withdrawn because the man had thought Harry had been in need of a defence - the trio was happy to take an appointment of 11 am the next day to see the boss himself.

 

Augustus Erskine WC - Wizard's Councillor - was a middle aged, balding, rather fat, richly dressed - in Wizard robes of course - jovial man. The man was so jovial Harry wasn't at first sure the man actually interested in Snape's case at all and not just in meeting the Famous Harry Potter. But after having started on tea and cakes and sweets, the man got straight to business.

 

"I don't mind telling you, Mr. Potter,"

"Harry, if you please, Sir," Harry interrupted, sitting forward on his rather fine leather chair, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of ginger nuts and malted milks in the other. Ron and Hermione sat together on the leather two seater sofa, both loaded with tea and plates of their own. Mr. Erskine sat behind an enormous heavy wooden desk, tea cup in hand but his plate sat balancing precariously on the top of one of the smaller stacks of red ribbon tied papers that cluttered the man's desk. Felicity sat on an armless leather chair with a straight back, just to the right of her boss, holding pencil and pad ready to take notes. Her tea and plate sat on the window sill just behind her, with the fringe of the ornate velvet green curtains almost touching the rim of the cup.

 

"Harry," Mr. Erskine corrected himself, "This is not going to be an easy case. As I see it it is you yourself that brings the most damning evidence; you saw Potion Master Snape kill Headmaster Dumbledore yourself."

 

"Uh, should I lie then, and tell them I didn't see it?" Harry asked.

 

"Oh, good grief no! You must never lie under oath! If people started doing that, how would Justice even be done?" The man looked genuinely shocked. Well, Harry supposed he was right, but Harry himself had only had a bad experience with telling the truth at trials; especially if it was something that the Wizengamot didn't want to hear.

 

"But Felicity spoke of mitigating circumstances," the man said. Harry and Hermione told him what Portrait Albus had said to them about that, while Ron, after finishing his own plate, had started on Hermione's.

 

While Ron munched through the rest of the cookies - which he had 'liberated' from the big plate on the tea tray that sat on the long dark wood side board, right next to the office's single heavy door - and continued straight onto killing off the plates of sandwiches a nice office clerk brought in with more tea and pumpkin juice for lunch, Harry, Hermione and Erskine - "Erskine is just fine, my boy, I'm only a 'Sir' in public" - looked over Snape's options at trial.

 

Just after lunch an Owl - bearing an official looking leg ring with the MoM crest - dropped of a collection of scrolls, neatly tied with red tape. These turned out to be the official information on Snape's trail. Two points popped out immediately: 1. The trial date was set at Friday, January 16th, two days from now. And 2. Snape had been classed as too dangerous to visit - not even by council - and would be held at a special cell at the Ministry until his court appearance, Friday 10 am.

 

_Well, at least the poor guy wasn't in Azkaban,_ Harry thought. And he couldn't suppress a shudder at the memory of meeting Azkaban's Magical jailers; the Dementors.

 

~TBC~

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

  
  


**Thursday, January 15th, 1998**

Severus pulled his jacket coat closer for the umpteenth time. The guard had taken his teaching robes when he'd been pushed into the tiny dark and freezing cell the day before. The man left saying "Death Eater scum masquerading as a teacher!" and then Snape got spat on.

Now he sat huddled in the nearly dark cell, shivering in the cold. But without magic there was no way to create heat or light and Snape lacked the means of magic right now, so he could do nothing but try to keep warm by wrapping his arms about him tighter and pulling up his legs to his body, while his exhaled breath glittered dully in the little bit of light it caught.

He realized he never should have bowed to Potter. Not that he had had a choice; the pull of that green magical aura had been too strong, and now with his willing submission it would be stronger yet. He had felt it with the Dark Lord, he had felt it with Dumbledore and now he felt it with Potter. Those other times he had resisted but this time he had given in and submitted. What kind of fool was he to subjugate himself to such a mere boy? But he knew what kind of fool: an unprepared one. He had never expected to survive the Dark Lord's death. Oh, he hadn't known the Dark Lord would try to take all the Death Eaters with him in death, but he'd known that the chances for survival were pretty much nil.

He shivered as his teeth started chattering again. And he noticed the light had become a little dimmer; that meant night was approaching and there were some long hours of total darkness coming up before there would be food and water again.

His arms strained as he tried to huddle even closer. All he could hope for now was that his trial would start soon and finish even sooner, putting an effective end to the cold.

oqpodboqpo

**Friday, January 16th, 1998, 9:30 am.**

Severus woke up to the creak of his cell door opening. He blinked at the light coming through the open door and saw two silhouettes appearing. They came at him fast and he was grasped by his upper arms and hauled onto his unsteady feet. A third man came in and Severus was turned so he faced him. The man wore Auror red and as Severus' eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that the men holding him also wore red.

"It's time for your trial, Death Eater scum," the man said, before grabbing Severus hands and tying them roughly together with rope that was so laden with magic spellcraft that they tingled on Severus' skin. But it was those words by which Severus recognized the Auror as the guard who had incarcerated him some days ago.

The man turned around without waiting for Severus' response and started walking out the cell and along the corridor. The two men holding him up also started moving and Severus tried but failed to get his legs to carry him - they were too numb from the cold - so he had no choice but to let them drag him with them.

They took him up at least three flights of stairs, Severus couldn't be sure because he was busy trying to get his legs to work. But after an indeterminable time of traveling through corridors, the two men finally dumped him on a wooden bench opposite a wooden door labeled 'Wizengamot, prisoner entrance, no smoking allowed'.

The two men and Severus' jailer-guard all leaned against the wood-clad wall with the door in it and passed 'round cigarette butts which were lit with the tip of their wands. Severus found he couldn't stop from coughing at the smoke produced, but at least the location was warm and well lit - a real window was sat high in the wall at the end of the corridor - and real sunlight fell on Severus' upturned face. He could hear a winter bird chirp outside. He closed his eyes and savoured it.

Then a bell sounded - two metallic clanks. The guards each flicked their wands to extinguish the butts and dispel the smoke and Severus was hauled to his feet once more. This time he could put his weight on his legs and they didn't buckle, so he could walk with the two men instead of being dragged. And when he was pushed through the narrow door after the guard, he was very glad of it because as he entered a theatre-like space - with its circular wooden benches reaching almost to the ceiling on the one side and an immensely tall enclosed table on the other, with some ten shadowed figures sitting behind it - he could see Potter and Weasley stand up from having been seated on the lowest audience tier.

 _What are these kids doing here? Do they have to witness this humiliation of their old teacher too?_ Anger welled up inside of him and he straightened up more so as to look as if he had some authority here, well, at least over the 'Golden Trio'. He caught Potter's gaze and snarled in a stage whisper, "What the devil are you doing here?"

The boy had the audacity to give him a smile, stepping a little closer he said, "Don't worry, Sir, it'll be all right. Oh, and by the way, I have your wand safely tucked away," Potter added.

Severus only had time to give the child a scathing look before his escort pushed him towards a new horror. ' _It'll be all right,'_ echoed in Severus' head mockingly, because what he saw appear before him was absolutely _not_ going to be _'all right'_.

"Let the accused be bound!" boomed a dark voice over and above where the judges sat. There were objections from Potter and his cronies, but Severus didn't bother to listen; you never won an argument with the Wizengamot, why try to postpone the inevitable?

Instead he looked at the uncomfortable-looking chair that had magically appeared before him. A straight-backed wooden piece of furniture, harmless in and of itself, but what chilled Severus to the bone were the heavy cast iron chains that were hanging from it in strategic places. He hadn't known about this and he could feel the panic starting to well up.

While he stood looking at the thing in horror, the argument played itself out around him, without affecting him or the outcome. His breathing rate increased as he was led forward to the thing and he tried to distract himself by figuring out why he hadn't known this would be here.

He had been tried before, but back then he hadn't been taken to this courtroom. Then he had been locked in a small office with a guard while Albus had argued his case. Only once had he stepped before the wizards presiding over the case, and that had been solely to show them the Mark had diminished to almost a shadow. The three wizards had sat behind a large table in a small office-type room, much like the one he had spent that same day in, and his entire court appearance back then had lasted all of thirty seconds.

Now, at the feel of being pushed into that chair, his breath hitched so hard he started coughing. He quickly got it under control as the guard gave him a foul look before untying Severus' hands and pushing his left arm to the chair's arm rest. The chains slithered around his arm all by themselves, pinching his wounds but not hurting him. _Dear Merlin._ Severus closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

His right arm was placed and the chains tightened on the cast. He cleared his mind and silently recited: _Recipe for Wolfsbane potion, second stage, begin:_

 _Pour the Monk's Hood base after steeping for 3-7 hours and straining, into a silvered cauldron. (Do not exceed steeping time!)_ He tried to see the potion, smell its potency, anything to distract himself from his legs being grabbed and moved to match the legs of the chair and chained down. _Add (while still cold): one dram of Verdigris. Then add single grains until the liquid turns the shade of a Brittlegill at its most red, while lightly stirring twice clockwise to once counter clockwise. Let it rest two minutes._

Next followed a slithering chain over his thighs. _Add seventy-two drops of Dropwort juice, while stirring figure eights. Don't take more than two minutes. (In winter time add two more drops) Let it rest 10 minutes._

 _Color should match Ranunculus Acris yellow; if not, discard the brew._ A chain wrapped itself around his waist and pulled tight so his back was pulled back to align with the straight chair back. Then another wiggled over his chest. _Oh Merlin. Uh, prepare paste of pulped and mixed: one dram of dried Scarabaeus sacer, one and a half dram of dried Loxosceles reclusa legs, three quarters of a dram of pure Brimstone, 90 drops of premium quality Ashwinder venom (add slowly), 180 drops of Sweet Vitriol, two drams of, uh, of dried Dirty Trich (2 year old harvest, or older)._ It too pulled tight. Severus closed his eyes tightly. He could feel his heart beating so fast, as if it were trying to leave his now immobile chest. _Breathe. Heat to simmer (never boil!) Stir slowly for, uh - 23 minutes until potion turns, uh - vermilion and starts to waft. Breathe._ Warm human hands positioned his head to look straight ahead and Severus felt his eyes open as the chain was wound around his head and tightened. _Add a pinch of, uh - Calomel. Uh. Stir, ah - clockwise vigorously until potion turns, uh... Breathe!_

Then he felt the chains wiggle that much tighter around his torso, followed by the dreaded familiar feeling of his mind being torn from his body.

oqpodboqpo

Severus felt as if he was floating in a space that had neither up nor down, neither right nor left, neither forwards nor backwards. All it had were the most beautiful lights in an otherwise dark space.

There were many cyan and brown lights, some stationary, some moving, some still, some swirly. But Severus' attention was irresistibly drawn to the brightest of the lights: a radiant Star of the deepest, purest Green.

He couldn't stop himself from floating to it and once he'd reached it, he could do nothing but lie down at its base and bask in the radiance.

Time had no meaning here; occasionally a light would move and occasionally the Green Star would move as well, but all he did at such a moment was not resist the movement, and he found himself carried in the Green Star's wake with no effort at all.

Time passed, like a river running by, and at some point a square entered the space, a square that radiated a soothing orange light. He was tempted to go to it; it felt like the Orange was calling him, but then he could not quite remember why it should or even why he should give up his rightful place by the Green Star.

Then a white Orb appeared and he looked at it in wonder. Inside the Orb more of the Orange appeared and again he felt a pull towards it. But the pull of the Green proved stronger, and pretty soon he couldn't quite remember that he had been subject to any call other than the Green Star's overwhelming pull.

Some more time passed and at some point the White Orb just went away. Then he couldn't quite remember what an 'Orb' was or what this thing called 'Time' was; all he could remember was the Green. And then it was a matter of course that the Green was the only thing he had ever known, would know.

Until the moment he was torn to shreds.

oqpodboqpo

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


**Friday, January 16th, 1998, 9:55 am.**

It was a full five minutes before the trial started that Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Felicity Dunsmore and the Honorable Augustus Erskine, WC arrived at the entrance of the Wizengamot's Courtroom, all a bit out of breath.

Ron was weighted down with three of the thickest leather tomes Harry had ever seen - and that included Hermione's copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ \- while Harry carried the late Headmaster's stone Pensieve and Felicity toted an armful of paperwork and another bagful hanging off her shoulder. Hermione had not joined them yet; her task of obtaining the written permissions was keeping her busy at the other end of the Ministry building. It was really a matter of queuing to pick them up, but if things went as they had been going in the past two days, it just might not be that easy.

Over the past two days, among the five of them - well, everybody but Ron, who mostly ate - they had formed a strategy for Snape's defence. Everything really hinged on getting approval to: A. get a licence to bring Albus' portrait into the Ministry building and B. get the Wizengamot to view portrait Albus as a credible witness. Because only when the portrait was accepted would Erskine be able to introduce the bottled memories as sworn testimony. Bottled memories alone held no legal status, only when they'd been verified by a secondary source - the owner of the memories, or someone else who was there and who was not the defendant - would they be accepted as evidence. And for that they needed portrait Albus. So they needed a licence to have a magical portrait inside the MoM building, which they had been trying to get for the last two days. Well, hopefully 'Mione would join them soon with the licence and the portrait - which the Headmistress was at that moment baby-sitting at the Leaky Cauldron.

With two low _boings_ a bell rang and the wooden door marked 'Wizengamot, council entrance' opened. Harry let Erskine, Felicity and Ron go first, closing the procession. They entered the theatre-like space Harry remembered from the time he'd been accused of Underage Magic.

The stone walls with the medieval sconces that all old magical buildings seemed to have, the audience and witness benches rising up to the ceiling on one side and the high judges' tables on the other were an unwelcome sight to Harry, the bad memories of his own trial resurfacing. If Harry's own experience was anything to go by, Snape was in deep trouble. Suddenly he was glad he'd found Felicity and Erskine; Harry had had Dumbledore defending him back then - now, even without the Headmaster, Snape at least had a chance, however much the man would hate the interference.

The small group quickly set down all their gear on the lowest of the audience benches - Harry carefully placing the Pensieve on a stand that magically appeared - and Harry and Ron had just sat down when a deep male voice from above boomed, "Everyone rise for the Honorable Chief Warlock and the Members of the Warlock council."

Both Harry and Ron quickly sprang up, and Harry could see a door opening all the way in the top of the room on the side of the tall table. About two dozen men and women - all dressed in Wizarding robes, all older and all with grim faces - came in and spread out on what turned out to be two tiers of tall tables, the second of which was almost completely lost in the shadows. Most had papers with them that were spread out on the table in front of them. Inkwells were unscrewed and quills were sharpened.

As the men and women sat down Harry sat down too, after he saw Felicity sit. From the corner of his eye he saw Ron follow suit. Erskine stayed on his feet, holding a Wizarding law book.

There was a long pause after everybody had taken their seats, but then a voice boomed, "Chief Warlock Ernest Horatio Prospero presides."

One of the men sitting at the lower table stood up - Felicity, Harry and Ron stood up also - and spoke, "We are here to sit in judgement of Severus Tobias Snape, accused of being a Marked follower of Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord, also known as Voldemort; in short: a Death Eater." A murmur went through the room. "Furthermore he stands accused of the despicable murder of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, by the use of the Unforgivable Killing Curse." As the man sat back down, the other warlocks started whispering to each other. As he slowly sat back down Harry looked over at Ron and saw the same worry he himself felt: using the Killing Curse, for whatever reason, carried an automatic sentence of death by Dementor; the trial had barely started and it was not going well already.

The voice boomed again, "Warlock Henry Ethelred Auldershot speaks for the prosecution."

On the left side of the lower table a portly middle-aged wizard in brown robes with a brown pointy wizard's hat stood up and spoke. "All evidence has been studied and logged in this case. I request a verdict of guilty is entered immediately and the accused is taken directly to Azkaban where the prescribed punishment can administered before the day is out."

"No!" Harry couldn't stop from yelling as he sprang up from his seat. He could hear Ron's shocked breathing as his friend had shot up next to him.

"ORDER IN THE COURT" the Chief Warlock shouted.

Harry looked up at Erskine, who gave him a ' _settle down and don't worry'_ signal with his hand as he walked a few steps forward, his robe flapping about his legs. He then lifted his free hand and spoke, "I, Augustus Erskine, Wizard's Councillor, speak for the defence!"

A murmur went through the warlock group. Then the voice of the Chief Warlock boomed, "The court recognizes Augustus Eric Erskine as defender of Severus Tobias Snape."

Another, louder, murmur was heard and Harry was relieved when Erskine circled back to him, whispering, "Round one," while showing him thumbs up.

"Call in the accused: Severus Tobias Snape," came from above.

Harry's head turned as a door opened and an Auror stepped through, followed by Snape and two more Aurors. Harry was shocked at the way his old teacher looked; the face was almost grey, with stark black shadows under his eyes. The man wasn't wearing his teaching robes and his hands were bound in front of him. Harry could plainly see the cast sticking out of one sleeve and a grubby white coil of bandaging hanging out of the other.

In the last few days they had tried desperately to gain permission to visit Snape - Harry had had a very bad feeling whenever he thought of the well-being of the Potions Master - but had been rebuffed every time. They had even gone as far as citing medical necessity, but that had been shot down when Dean had had to admit he couldn't swear to it under Veritaserum; Dean had just done too good a job of healing Snape that Tuesday morning, so that no treatment would be needed until the cast could come off next Monday. Now that Harry saw the state Snape was in he was furious with himself that they hadn't tried harder; the man looked like death warmed over.

At that moment Snape seemed to notice Harry for the first time and Harry was almost gratified to hear the sheer malice in Snape's question to him, "What the devil are you doing here?" Snape's venom meant the man wasn't ailing too much, Harry decided and just to needle him a little more, Harry put on his most disarming face and said, "Don't worry, Sir, it'll be all right. Oh, and by the way, I have your wand safely tucked away." He added the last part as a consolation; he knew any wizard would feel better knowing his wand was safe, even if Harry had strategically not brought it into the MoM building. If the Wizengamot asked for it, they'd have to wait while he went to fetch it.

Harry found he felt reassured, even happy at the patent withering look Snape sent him at his comment.

"Let the accused be bound!" the voice of the Chief Warlock boomed. And a plain wooden chair appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the floor space. It was hung with heavy chains.

 _What? No!_ Harry remembered that creepy chair; had sat on it at his own trial, its chains just twitching to wrap around him, but he had not been ordered to be bound at that time.

Harry looked over at Erskine and the man met his gaze before stepping forwards and loudly spoke, "We object to this binding; the accused has _not_ been sentenced yet and thus should _not_ be bound!"

"The crimes involve the use of an Unforgivable; binding him under that accusation is within the boundaries of the law," Auldershot, who was still standing, said.

"The accused shall be bound," Prospro confirmed from his seated position.

Harry gave Erskine a pleading look, but the man shook his head and Harry's stomach twisted as he saw Snape being strapped down in the horrible chair.

Harry was almost relieved Snape's face relaxed once he was immobile; before, while the Potions Master was being tied, Harry had seen that panic-horror in the black eyes. The same horror he had seen when they had tried doing the ritual for the first time: Harry had feared Snape would try to fight the Aurors, accidentally provoking them into harming or even killing the Potions Master. But to Harry's eternal relief nothing of that kind happened and Snape was now sitting absolutely still on the chair, the eyes in the pale face pointing forward to the proceedings.

Harry's own attention also turned to what was being said. The strategy they had decided on yesterday, when it turned out someone was going to have to get that infernal licence, was for Erskine to stall for as long as he could. And that was exactly what happened next.

Erskine was a great speaker and he spoke of the law and of fighting Evil and he talked about Harry as the Boy Who Lived to kill a Dark Lord - making Harry cringe - and how a single brave Death Eater had turned his back on the Darkness and had helped the Light prevail. He made it a long and impassioned plea and it seemed to please the warlocks because even Auldershot had sat down to listen to the story, without interrupting or objecting to it once.

While Erskine talked Harry looked about for Hermione - not really expecting her to be there yet, but getting anxious nonetheless - then looked at his pocket watch - the one he had found in the Potter Vault that he inherited on his coming of age; it read 10:35.

Erskine moved his story on to the prelude to Dumbledore's death. Telling the Warlock audience about the Cursed Ring and how Snape had tried to stop the Curse from spreading. He talked of the loyalty that Snape had shown before then and talked at length about Snape's good work as a school teacher and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

When Harry's watch read 10:56 and Hermione still wasn't there and Erskine gave him a questioning look while still talking, Harry was forced to shrug his shoulders in a gesture of _'I don't know what's keeping her either.'_ Auldershot unfortunately must have picked up on the silent exchange, because he interrupted Erskine's speech and demanded, "Sir, these are very entertaining words, but can you offer proof for any of this?"

Harry and Erskine exchanged a look. Then Erskine grasped the side of his cloak and took a long theatrical stroll around the open floor space, circling the horrible chair with its silent occupant. He came to a stop next to the chair and indicated Snape with his hand. "I certainly can, but first we must hear about the character of the accused," he said. "And for this reason I call Harry Potter as the first witness." The man's hand now indicated Harry.

Harry cringed; they had discussed this strategy as a last resort stalling technique. The idea was to get Harry on the stand and then talk about all of his exploits in the hope that the audience - as Erskine had called the Wizengamot's warlocks - would be all too interested in whatever the Boy Who Lived would have to say. Harry, when this strategy had first been suggested, had been skeptical, but now that he had seen the audience's riveted attention at Erskine's tale, Harry was convinced it would work, distasteful or not.

"Harry James Potter is called to the stand," the overhead Voice boomed.

He got up and took his own slow turn around the room - anything to buy time - before stopping next to Erskine, where a fancy wooden lectern had magically appeared.

Harry had no notes to put on the ornately carved stand, but as if to give himself strength he put his hand on the dark worn wood.

"The witness will take the oath," the Chief Warlock said. One of the Aurors that had come in with Snape stepped up to Harry and took out his wand.

"Raise your right hand, son," Erskine said. Harry took his hand off the lectern and raised it next to his head, palm facing forward.

"Repeat after me: I, Harry James Potter," the Chief Warlock began. Harry dutifully repeated it, watching a purple light start to glow on the end of the Auror's wand.

"Shall speak the truth," the man continued. Harry repeated it.

"On pain of the loss of my magic," the Chief Warlock concluded. Harry swallowed down his nerves and repeated it, keeping his eyes on the growing purple spell light all the while. Then the Auror swished his wand back and was about to cast when the Councillor side door opened and Hermione stepped in, followed closely by McGonagall and Dean Thomas. Under Hermione's arm was a large thin brown paper wrapped package: the portrait.

Harry immediately stepped out of the firing line of the oath spell; he really didn't want to have to tell the truth about anything in this court room! He sent a silent prayer of thanks up to whoever was up there for the timely intervention.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" Erskine said, sounding as relieved as Harry felt. The Councillor turned back to the warlocks and announced, "I call Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, former Headmaster of Hogwarts, to the stand!"

Next came the expected kerfuffle of _can't call a dead man_ and then _portraits can't testify and aren't allowed into the Ministry building to begin with_ ; the first was countered with argumentation and Law precedent - ghosts had been called as witnesses before - and the second with precedent and paperwork - portraits had been validated as witnesses before, and Hermione had the right papers to allow this portrait passage into the building.

Harry let the whole thing just happen around him, as Snape appeared to be doing; the man didn't seem to think the scene worthy of looking at it and continued to stare stubbornly straight ahead. _Good for you,_ Harry thought.

Harry sat back on the lowest tier bench and listened to portrait Albus' story. It was a story Harry had heard quite a few times now, this version embellished with even more praises sung about Snape's long-time loyalty to the Headmaster. It was quite boring really. But it paved the way to introducing the bottled memory testimony that Harry was more than a bit curious about.

Portrait Albus had told them where to find the bottled memories that Wednesday afternoon, but it had taken the trio until this morning to actually get their hands on the box, since the hiding place had been magically secured by Dumbledore. Now, if they had just been able to meet with Snape, they could have obtained his permission to access the strong box; all it would have taken was the Potions Master's word, as Dumbledore had built that in as a safety. But as they couldn't get to Snape, they'd been forced to break into the box, using just plain ol' magical force. Harry's legs still wobbled a bit from the power drain and from the loss of a night's sleep.

So this morning about nine-ish, Erskine had viewed the memories, which took a full twenty-eight minutes, leaving Harry without the opportunity to satisfy his own curiously. He'd had just have to make do with Erskine's assurance that the memories would help the case. It was altogether rather nerve-wracking.

"The bottled memories are accepted into evidence," the voice of the Chief Warlock boomed.

Harry shot up from his seat and carefully lifted the Pensieve off its stand. He walked with it to stand next to Erskine and promptly another, more ornate, stand appeared, on which he placed it. The stand seemed to grow around the large stone bowl, three tendril-like climbing vines shooting straight up for some three feet before coming together right over the centre of the shimmering water. The three shoots curled about each other for a moment and then Harry could see the start of a flower bud growing in a point where all three touched. The bud grew quickly into a sizable white flower with large scoop-like petals. The flower opened and Harry could see a completely clear crystal sit in the heart of the flower, about the size of an egg.

At a nod from Erskine, Harry pulled out the large bottle with memories from his magically protected robe pocket, uncorked it and spilled out the entire contents into the magical water. He watched it swirl for a moment before he felt a hand on his arm and looked over at Erskine, who beckoned him to come sit down with him.

Harry sat down and looked to where Erskine - and everybody else, it seemed - had his eyes pointed to: the crystal. After a moment of just admiring the thing - it was quite beautiful in a cold, expensive sort of way - Harry could see a tiny mist effect within the crystal. Then it grew and the crystal became opaque. Then the mist expanded to swallow the outline of the crystal and then that of the flower and the point where the shoots had met. Then it expanded upward to form a tight mist-ball, some ten feet across. Harry scooted back in his seat at the sudden movement, tilting his head back so he could keep all of it in his line of sight. He gripped his wand in his pocket, just in case the mist decided to encompass him and all of them.

But the mist stopped growing and instead it turned grey like a rain cloud just before it started raining. Then it shimmered and a scene formed. It showed the Headmaster as he sat in one of his chintz chairs, with one of the walls full of knick-knacks from his office behind him, the fire in the wall sconces dancing merrily. The man had his eyes closed and his head was resting against the head rest; he looked terrible.

When Pensieve Dumbledore's eyes opened, Harry experienced a slight vertigo as the scene shifted to include the space on the floor to the right of the chintz chair. There on his knees sat Snape, who was carefully bathing the Headmaster's black hand in a basin full of yellow liquid that stood on a stand between them. The yellow liquid turned black with three washes. Snape retrieved his wand from the floor, where it had been obscured from Harry's view by a large open mahogany box that stood open and was filled with bottles. Also on the floor lay a tray with instruments and rolled-up bandages.

Pensieve Snape waved his wand over the basin and said, "Tersus Malum," white spell light hitting the hand. He waved the wand again saying, "Evanesco" and the black liquid vanished. He cast Aguamenti to refill the basin. He then put down the wand and took out a bottle from the box. He poured a good spoon's worth into the water in the bowl and started washing again. The liquid turned black very quickly. The ornate clock on the wall behind them read 12:55 and a magical hand with Dumbledore's smiling face on it pointed to 'In Deathly Peril'. The magical calendar on the wall had July 1996 open, with a gold border marker around the date of the 4th.

The scene wobbled for a moment and Harry didn't notice any significant change to the scene - the Headmaster still looked bad, Snape still sat and bathed the black hand - until he looked at the clock; it read 5:50 and the magical hand had moved the tiniest bit away from 'In Deathly Peril' towards 'In Serious Danger'. The only other thing that was different was that Harry felt Snape was clenching his teeth more in effort.

The scene shifted again. This time Snape was not bathing the hand anymore. He sat with his head down and his hands, balled into fists, lay in his lap. His shoulders hitched almost imperceptibly. The clock read 9:43 and the hand still pointed closer to 'Deathly Peril' than 'In Serious Danger' but it was further away from 'Deathly Peril' than it had been hours earlier. Pensieve Dumbledore lifted his hand from the empty basin, holding it closer to his face for inspection. It was blackened all the way past his wrist, the skin - which would not have been smooth on the old man even if not cursed - was wrinkled like burnt parchment and Harry felt his stomach lunge when he realized that the ring finger didn't have quite the right bends a healthy finger should have had. _Funny how I never noticed that in sixth year,_ he thought.

The shaking of Snape's shoulders had stopped, but Harry could hear the tears in the man's voice as he said, "I'm sorry, I can't stop the curse." Snape lifted his head to look up at the Headmaster, revealing his red but dry eyes. The black orbs looked hollow.

"I have halted it for now, but continued treatment is needed," the Potions Master said. At this the Headmaster nodded and reached out with his right hand to touch Snape's shoulder briefly before getting up from the chair and stepping out of the scene without a word.

Snape looked down for a long moment, his greasy hair obscuring Harry's view of the hook-nosed profile. Then the man started cleaning up the equipment and the scene changed again.

Again the chintz chair came into view, with the Headmaster reclining in it. The calendar read Monday 19th of August, 1996. The clock read 3:15. Dumbledore's magical hand read a little closer to 'In Deathly Peril'. A beam of sunlight fell on the little table next to the chair that held a one-person tea set with a full plate of rich tea biscuits.

Then the sunlight was blocked and Snape stepped into the scene, his outer cloak flapping. He immediately dropped to his knees in the position he had held in the other scenes while he pulled off his cloak, casting it aside. He placed the box that he had been carrying over one shoulder by a wide leather strap on the floor and while he opened the lid and took the top tray out, the Headmaster had opened his eyes and proceeded to use his wand to banish the tea set and conjure a bowl in its place.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I have very little time today," Snape spoke, all the while setting up the workstation and starting the cleaning process again. After the first washing he spelled 'Tersus Malum' and set up a clean potion to work with.

"Pettigrew fell for spiked tea and should be asleep for some hours, but I dare not stay too long lest someone is sent to check on us," the Potions Master said, keeping his eyes firmly on his work. Dumbledore nodded gravely and while Harry couldn't be sure Snape had even seen the gesture, the man continued reporting, "Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange came to visit yesterday." At this Snape glanced up at the Headmaster, maybe to gauge the man's reaction. Dumbledore merely nodded again. Snape cast his eyes back to his work. He cast 'Tersus Malum' and renewed the bath. The water that had come off the Headmaster's hand was still jet black.

"Narcissa was worried about her son. Apparently the Dark Lord has given him a task that Narcissa believes he won't be able to accomplish. She," here he hesitated and looked up to Dumbledore again, his glance questioning. "She made me take an Unbreakable Vow that I'd help him or, if Draco finds himself unable to perform, to finish the task." He cast again, refreshed the bath and started the next cleansing.

"I think," he hesitated again, sloshing more potion bath over the black hand. "I think I made a grave error. Not that I could have gotten out of it without revealing my true loyalties, but I think that Draco has been ordered to do something dire."

"I think I have some idea of what it is," the Headmaster's baritone sounded. Snape looked up expectantly. "And that is one of the reasons I'm going to make this next request of you," he continued. Snape stopped his ministrations and gave the Headmaster what Harry in his mind had always called his _'Do tell'_ look.

Dumbledore, without letting his hand leave the bath, sat forward in the stuffed chair and turned to the still kneeling Potions Master. "I want you, when the time comes, to free me from this suffering, permanently."

Harry was watching breathlessly as all the colour drained from Snape's face. "No!" the man yelled, jumping up from his kneeling position, almost upsetting the low table with the full basin on top as he went. The Headmaster Vanished both bowl and contents before the bowl had stopped moving, as Snape turned his back on the scene and walked away, heading out of the scene.

Harry again experienced vertigo as the view of the scene widened to include Snape, who now stood at the sunny widow, his back turned to the Headmaster.

"Severus," Dumbledore ventured.

"No," came from Snape. "I refuse. Don't ask it of me. I cannot. I _will_ not." he said with finality. The Headmaster looked at his Potions Master's back sadly and sighed.

Unexpectedly the scene shifted again, this time showing the chintz chair at night again. Date: Thursday, September 19th Time: 10:05. The magical hand was pretty much where it was in the scene before. The Headmaster was sitting back in the chair while Snape carefully Spelled and bathed the black hand. Four empty potion bottles lay strewn about the carpet around the Potions Master's knees.

"Severus, I must ask this of you," the Headmaster said. Snape didn't look up from his work and gave a clipped "No" as a rejoinder.

The Headmaster sighed. "I have no wish to see this curse run its course," he said.

"No," Snape repeated firmly.

"Would you see me consumed by this," the Headmaster seemed to look for the right word, "this canker?!" Snape's head sank a little but he said nothing.

"Is it not my right to die with some dignity and possibly make my death count?" Dumbledore asked. Snape's head sank another inch, but again he remained silent as he bathed the hand again.

Snape cast the spell and refreshed the bath and was still adding the spoonful of yellow potion to it when the Headmaster spoke again. "What I ask is necessary; you know that as well as I do."

The loud crash of the half full potion bottle hitting the wall and exploding into a thousand yellow-tinged shards shocked Harry so hard that he jumped in his seat. Once he could refocus on the Pensieve scene, he saw Snape had doubled over and his large hands were hiding his face as his shoulders shook. Dumbledore leaned over and put his good hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said.

The scene shifted again, the date moving up about a month. Snape sat on his knees again, looking up at Dumbledore sitting in the chair. Six empty bottles sat on the ground and the empty bowl lay discarded next to them. The Headmaster was drying his afflicted hand carefully on a towel and Snape had apparently abandoned protocol, because he had shucked his black coat and was sitting in his shirt sleeves. He looked upset. Harry couldn't help but feel the same.

"Sir," Snape started, "Ask me anything, _anything_ but that!" he pleaded and Harry felt a stab of pain go through his own heart, at the memory of Dumbledore's own pleading of _'No... not that, not that, I'll do anything!'_ in that infernal cave that very last night.

Pensieve Dumbledore gave a sad smile, and looking at the distraught Potions Master he said, "Severus, I'm sorry; there is no other choice."

Just before the scene shifted again, Harry could see Snape curl in on himself and double over, the curtain of his greasy hair touching the carpet, as he could hear the man's long-drawn-out wail.

The scene reformed and it was again a month or so later. But this time both the Headmaster and Snape were on their knees, facing each other and holding each other's right hand by the wrist, Roman style. Over the point of contact Fawkes hovered, hanging in midair.

"Do you swear?" the Headmaster asked.

"I do," Snape answered, sounding breathless.

"You will kill me when I request it?" Dumbledore asked and Harry could see the man's watery blue gaze boring into Snape's dark orbs. Above them Fawkes spread his wings as if in benediction.

"I will," Snape answered, and Harry could see his chest heave with the deep breaths the man was gulping.

"Will you vow to use the Killing Curse?" was the next question and Harry could see the Potions Master's eyes widen as if in surprise; the man started to pull on their clasped hands, breathing so hard he looked close to hyperventilating.

 _Snape had obviously not expected that,_ Harry thought to himself. He already knew that Snape would be using the Killing Curse on Dumbledore, but at this moment in time it looked like the man might refuse to promise that.

Snape was almost imperceptibly shaking his head as the Headmaster repeated himself with some force and a lot of impatience, "Will you vow to use the Killing Curse?"

For a very long moment neither Snape nor Dumbledore moved, maintaining the intense look in each other's eyes, then Snape's eyes dropped and his shoulders sagged as he said, "I will."

Above them Fawkes flapped his wings and started trilling as an Orange Spell Ball built up around Snape and Dumbledore's clasped hands. It swelled to about the size of a Quaffle and then exploded; the vow was sealed and the scene faded, leaving the white mist ball hanging over the Pensieve.

Harry exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as the mist ball reduced itself and retreated back into the crystal. The white flower then closed around the crystal and wilted. The withered flower fell from the branch just as the shoots also withered and died, raining down in ash that disappeared altogether, before it could touch the Pensieve's shimmering surface.

In only a short few moments the Pensieve stood unfettered on the ornate stand and Harry felt Erskine's elbow prod him for action. Harry needed a moment to figure out what to do but then remembered and got off his seat and stepped over to the Pensieve. There he used his wand to retrieve the memories and transfer them safely back into the bottle, which subsequently went back into his pocket. He then lifted the Pensieve, feeling the stand disappear from underneath, and walked to the side of the open space, where another stand appeared. He carefully placed the stone bowl down and returned to his seat.

He sat back as Erskine got up and moved to the centre of the room. The man raised both arms and spoke, "As you all just witnessed, the late Headmaster ordered his own death by Killing Curse, enforcing poor Mr. Snape's compliance with the use of an Unbreakable Vow. I hereby charge the Court to absolve the accused of all responsibility of the act and of the means by which it was accomplished." With that Erskine turned around and strode back to his seat.

Harry's heart beat all the way up in his throat, as he tried to make out words from the murmur that went through the group of warlocks. He glanced over at Snape, who was, of course, still chained to his chair, but at this angle Harry could only see the lank hair hiding the side of the face from him.

After five very tense minutes Harry was surprised that Auldershot stood up to speak and not the Chief Warlock.

"We are agreed that this testimony has merit," Auldershot said. "However, it does not show innocence of the crime of being a Death Eater."

Harry sat back stunned. _Being a Death Eater was a crime?_ Harry hadn't known that. He knew some Death Eaters had committed some serious bad acts and those bad acts were most often also crimes. But just _being_ one being a crime, that was news to him. Harry looked at Erskine who frowned in return.

Harry followed the Councillor with his eyes as the man stood up and stepped forward. "Since when is _being_ a Death Eater a crime?" Erskine boomed out the question.

"Since last Tuesday," Auldershot said, picking up a document, with a very official red ribbon hanging off it, from his table and offering it up the Erskine below.

Erskine motioned Harry to go get it, which Harry did swiftly, handing it off to Erskine, who promptly fished out his reading glasses from his robe pocket and proceeded to read it.

In the pre-trial strategy meetings, Erskine had asked Harry to assist him instead of Felicity, and had Felicity explain exactly what Harry's job would entail. Erskine explained his choice of Harry as his assistant; it would put Harry - and his fame - firmly at the disposal of Snape's defence. It would be more valuable than Harry just appearing as a character witness.

On his quick trip back and forth, Harry had tried to get a glimpse of Snape. The man was still sitting absolutely still, exercising that iron control of his. The face was possibly a little paler than before, but Harry couldn't be sure. The eyes seemed to be looking a little less straight ahead, but more to the ground, but again Harry could not be sure; he just didn't get a good enough look. He had seen the chest move in breathing, so that was at least something.

Harry was sitting at the edge of his seat, biting his lip as Erskine finally put the parchment down and pulled the glasses off his nose.

"Well, that's a convenient piece of legislation," Erskine said just loud enough for Harry to hear but not the warlocks across the room.

"You were saying?" Auldershot asked.

Erskine got back to his feet, still holding the parchment by one of its corners. He moved to the middle of the room, waved the parchment around and said, "In here it says that a Death Eater may be identified as such by his Dark Mark." Erskine consulted the parchment before adding, "'Consisting of: a stationary skull and moving serpent outlined in a black magical inked tattoo, located on the left lower arm.'"

Harry's heart shot up in his throat. _No! That was not part of the strategy they had devised,_ he thought. The trio had informed Erskine that the Dark Mark was no longer on Snape's arm, but they had not told him that another Mark was now in its place. _Oh no, Erskine was planning to show them Snape's arm! He must be stopped!_ Harry was sure showing the new Red Hand Mark that currently sat on his former teacher's arm was a Very Bad Idea!

But like a speeding train on its way to a deadly collision, Erskine spoke, "I declare that Mr. Snape bears no such Mark." The Councillor stepped up to Snape's left side and Harry ran up after him.

"I demand that Snape be unbound, so this matter can be laid to rest once and for all!" Erskine proclaimed.

Harry had just reached Snape when he heard Chief Warlock Prospro declare, "Request granted." He saw the chains slither off the still figure of the Potions Master and when they had loosened enough Harry reacted instinctively when Snape just pitched forward and off the chair; he slid under the man's head and shoulders to prevent a collision of the man's head with the stone floor.

With the move Harry himself ended up flat on his back, bumping his elbows, shoulder blades and the back of his head on the cold floor quite hard. But he wasn't too worried about that as his palm had accidentally brushed Snape's forehead while going down; the skin was hot, so hot almost as if it was on fire. "Oh my god, somebody help! He's burning up!" Harry yelped.

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**Friday, January 16th, 1998, about 3:30 pm.**

It had been an hour or more before Wizard's Councillor Augustus Erskine, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Felicity Dunsmore and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall finally made it out of the Ministry of Magic on their way to find Severus Snape - Potions Master and currently the accused in a Death Eater trial - after he had been taken following the man's dramatic collapse in the Wizengamot's Court Room.

The trio directly set off for St. Mungo's while Erskine and Felicity went back to their office to request and await news through official channels and McGonagall decided to personally take the Headmaster's portrait home to Hogwarts for safekeeping.

As Harry, Hermione and Ron made their way through the crowded lobby of St. Mungo's to the reception desk, Ron drew Harry's attention by calling out, "Hey, Neville, Luna, what are you doing here?"

Harry turned around to look at where Ron was looking and saw a chipper looking Luna, in a green woolen dress, with yellow ribbons in her yellow hair, and a subdued looking Neville, wearing dark trousers and a blue sweater with a red and green line around the collar and cuffs, walking their way towards them, arm in arm. Harry was momentarily startled by how odd they looked in clothing other than their Hogwarts uniforms, until he remembered that _not_ wearing a uniform is the norm for most grown-up people. And yes, Luna with her top three buttons on her dress opened, showing considerable cleavage, and Neville with a fresh hair cut, sporting not altogether fashionable sideburns, really did look grown up.

When the two reached them, Luna said in her usual sing-song voice, "Neville here has just visited his parents and this morning I had a feeling I ought to be here. Maybe there is a Nargle in distress in one of the wards." She nodded to herself and added, "Yes, I'm pretty sure that's it."

 _Well, Luna even grown-up doesn't change much_ , Harry thought. He refrained from commenting out loud and instead asked, "Neville, how was your visit?" Neville looked up from looking at the floor, said, "Fine," and lowered his gaze again.

Harry remembered his visit to St. Mungo's at Christmas in 5th year. He had been there with Hermione and the Weasleys to visit Mr. Weasley after the man had been attacked by Nagini. He remembered how they had stumbled on the Permanent Spell Damage Ward and had met Neville and his gran, visiting Neville's parents. At the time he hadn't been able to pay much attention to the event, but in retrospect it had been heart-rending seeing Neville's mum like that. And Harry could understand how Neville would feel a little down right after visiting today, so he quickly changed the subject.

"We're looking for Snape," he said. As a change of subject it wasn't great, but at least Snape was not a person Neville was very attached to, in a positive way anyway, so it was safe enough.

"Oh?" Neville asked, visibly perking up already. "Wasn't he due in court today?"

As the group queued to get to the reception desk, Harry and Hermione gave the two newcomers the ultra-short version of events.

"So when he fell off his chair, I caught him as well as I could," Harry almost smiled as he saw the look of revulsion on Neville's face at the thought of touching Snape, "And he was just burning up with fever. So I called for help and the Chief Warlock called for a Healer and the next thing I knew, they had him on a stretcher leaving by a side door I hadn't even known was there, and Dean took off right behind them."

Before Harry could draw a much-needed breath, Hermione picked up the story seamlessly, "And then we tried to follow but the door had closed behind Dean and it disappeared. We were told that it was a special emergency door that leads directly to St. Mungo's and that only Healers and Healer's apprentices can go through it. That's why Dean got through. We came right here after that. Took us nearly an hour to get out of the Ministry, there were that many reporters there!"

By the time Hermione needed to breathe, the group had reached the head of the queue and a witch in a pink robe with a pointy hat to match, asked, "And what can I do for you, my luv?" directing her watery blue gaze at Harry.

"Severus Snape, please," Hermione said economically. The witch twirled her wand and answered, "Ward 7, follow the Orb," just as economically, and a small pink Orb appeared from beneath the counter with the number 7 blinking inside of it. It floated off to the left and Harry said, "Thank you," as the group made to follow it. "You're welcome, luv," came from behind his back, as he had already turned away.

The pink Orb was apparently in a hurry, because the group had to work hard to keep up with it without breaking into a real run. Their Hogwarts education had taught them that running in the hallways was not even an option to be contemplated. And every one of them remembered the detentions served with Filch for forgetting that basic rule.

"Ward 7?" Harry heard Neville say beside him. "That's the Squib Ward, isn't it?"

Harry stopped moving so suddenly, causing Ron to run straight into his back.

"Oi, mate!" the redhead said.

"Sorry," Harry automatically apologized as the rest of the group caught up. Then he turned to Neville and asked "Are you sure?"

From the corner of his eye Harry could see the Orb had stopped moving some ten feet ahead of them, while Neville rubbed his chin and said, "Pretty much, yeah. That's what I've heard it being called for all the years I've been coming here."

 _What the H was Snape doing in the Squib Ward?_ An uneasy feeling crawled up Harry's spine; something was very, very wrong. He exchanged a look with Hermione and saw the same unease in her light brown eyes, a frown marring her face.

"Well, come on, let's go find out," he said and started walking in the direction the orb was moving.

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	6. Chapter 6

  
  


The Pink Orb took them down several flights of stone stairs, down a very long, low-lit underground corridor - even though they were straight and were painted white, the walls were moist to the touch - before bringing them to a surprisingly Muggle-looking stairwell with a steel staircase spiraling up. Up they went, spinning 'round more times than Harry remembered having to spin going down the stone staircase to Severus' office down in Hogwarts' dungeons, making it the tallest winding stairs Harry had ever climbed.

Once they reached the top they were deposited on a clean concrete landing - walls still painted white, the floor painted grey - and looking at a heavy door that was painted in a bright Muggle-toy-type blue and which had a thickly varnished wooden plaque on it, that said:

**'St. Mungo's Ward 7**

**Beware of Muggles**

**Remember the Magic Secrecy Act**

**Keep wands out of sight in the hallways at all times**

**By order of the MoM.'**

The text of each line had been individually sized so that the entire text looked like a rectangular block, without indentation on either side: very official looking.

Harry looked over at Hermione just beside him, giving her an annoyed look, ' _pompous asses'._

She shrugged, ' _they're idiots, what 'r you gonna do?'_ back at him.

He moved his wand theatrically from his outer robe pocket to his inner and observed the others rearranging their wands so they were out of sight, but not out of reach.

Once everybody was ready he nodded and put his hand on the door handle's cold steel and pulled open the heavy door. He had to step back to give the door room to swing open and reveal another white hallway with grey floors and many doors on either side, this time brightly lit.

He stepped through the door and walked a few paces into the hallway, hearing the others join behind him. He was just taking another step forwards when the first door on the right opened and a young woman in Muggle clothing - lavender blouse and brown skirt - hidden under a typically Muggle doctor's white coat came out. She even had a stethoscope draped around her neck. Harry stopped in his tracks, suddenly acutely aware his own - and everyone in the group's - attire was far from typically Muggle.

"Good afternoon," the doctor greeted them.

"Uh," Harry stuttered. "Hi," he tried, feeling as lame as the phrase sounded.

The lady doctor seemed to be totally unaffected by either the group's looks or Harry's lack of conversation skills as she said, "Welcome to Bethlem Royal Hospital."

"'Bedlam'?" Ron said, sounding shocked. _'Bedlam'? The notorious insane asylum, that Harry used to read about in one of Dudley's discarded books? They'd been led to a Muggle madhouse? Why?_

The lady smiled and corrected him, "'Bethlem'. But this hospital was indeed called 'Bedlam' in the past, so the confusion is understandable."

Her smile, as reassuring as it was probably meant to be, did not reassure Harry in the least. He knew for a fact that if Snape even was here - and Harry very much hoped he was not - the doctors had better keep the man doped up, because the eruption of sheer malice that Snape would spew at them if he found he had been brought to a Muggle loony bin would easily melt these nice clean white walls!

Maybe she saw Harry's thoughts reflected on his face, because the Muggle doctor added, "Don't worry; this is also the location of St. Mungo's Ward 7." She indicated with an elegant hand for them to start walking down the hallway. As Harry started moving automatically, the others' footfalls following, she continued talking in an informative tone that very much reminded him of Professor McGonagall leading the first years to the Hogwarts' Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony.

"Bethlem's and St Mungo's have had this shared Ward for nigh on two hundred years now. Ward 7 to us Muggles is a place where patients can be helped by Wizarding techniques like potions and some spells. In exchange we treat those members of the Wizarding society that for some reason can't be helped by Wizarding medicine," she explained.

"Squibs," Neville said behind Harry, the word almost sounding like a question.

"Yes 'Squibs' as they call them, but also wizards that have lost the protection of their magic," she informed them.

 _'Lost their magic'? Was that what had happened to Snape?_ The thought was chilling; being a wizard without magic, could there be anything worse?

The doctor abruptly stopped at one of the doors on the right hand side of the corridor. "Since we have only one wizard patient at the moment, I do assume you've come to see Mr. Snape," she said and stepped aside so the group could gather at the door. Harry gave his friends another look before opening it, fully expecting to be met with a very angry Snape, once they got inside.

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As it turned out he was wrong; it wasn't a pissed-off Potions Master he found himself dealing with but an absolutely irate School Nurse.

No sooner had Harry entered the sick room - white walls with dividing curtains drawn aside to show a large Muggle steel bed frame with Muggle bedding and Snape lying absolutely still in the middle, his face as white as the sheets and his black hair spread like an ink stain on the pillow, mouth covered with a plastic mask with a hose that led to a grey machine that went BEEP-BEEP-BEEP in a high-pitched rhythm, with Dean sitting on a steel chair at the far side of the bed looking miserable and Madame Pomfrey sitting at the near side with her back to the door, just in the process of turning round - when the Nurse spotted him and shot up from her seat and shocked Harry by positively stalking towards him. In his life he'd never thought he'd see someone as dignified and professional as the Nurse usually was stalk at him and most especially not with _that_ look on her face.

"Mr. Potter!" she said in a volume that bordered on yelling. Harry started to back up as she drew her wand at him. "Do you have any idea what you have done?!" She continued her advance on him and all he could do was back away some more and mutely shake his head; he honestly had no idea.

Just as Harry was about to back out of the room and into the hallway, he heard a firm female voice behind him saying, "Healer Pomfrey, remember the rules!"

Harry stood stock still as he watched Madam Pomfrey do the same, looking at him quite grimly. _Getting Pomfrey really angry might just be just as bad as pissing off Snape,_ Harry couldn't help but think the almost random thought.

The stalemate continued for a while longer but then, just as Harry's legs were starting to cramp with his strained pose, the School Nurse stepped back and made her wand disappear into her white robes. She gave him a classic _'You're in deep trouble, young man,'_ look - _must have learned that from McGonagall,_ Harry mused - and said, "Come with me, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged his shoulders as he decided that he did not believe she would really hurt him, well, not permanently anyway, and that following her might get him some answers. Merlin knew, the day so far had yielded none at all.

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In absolute silence Madam Pomfrey had taken him across the hallway and a little way onwards through a door marked '15B, Consulting Room'. She let him step into the small room first before following and closing the door after herself. Harry felt a whoosh of magic: silence and locking spells.

The room was as white as any of the rooms in this hospital seemed to be. It had a window with thin white drapes closed across it and a brown padded table with a long strip of white paper that came off a roll laid over it, pushed up against the left wall. To the right was a desk with a chair behind it and one in front. Harry knew at least so much that he, not being a doctor or healer or simply 'in charge', took the one in front while Madam Pomfrey took the one behind the desk.

This of course left Harry with his back to the door, but with his friends no doubt waiting in the hallway, he wasn't too worried about that. No, he was more worried - and curious - as to what he could have done to make the otherwise unflappable School Nurse so angry she'd lost her cool. But first he needed some answers of his own.

"Ma'am, how is Professor Snape?" he asked, remembering just in time to use the man's title, even if it was no longer correct.

Harry could see the question had startled the Matron but his heart sank when, after the surprised look, she gave him one of suspicion.

"Please, Ma'am, how is he?" Harry pleaded.

He could hear her sigh, her face softening and take a breath to answer with, "He's dying."

_'Dying'?_

"He's suffering from a severe inflammation of the lungs, what Muggles call pneumonia. The Muggle drugs don't seem to work and with his magic all but gone, he's unable to rid himself of the disease magically," she continued, sounding defeated.

_'His magic all but gone.'_

"But that's impossible!" Harry yelled. "How can he have lost his magic? When..." But then he realized when it might have happened. When he had felt that splurge of warm magic flooding him, just before he had fired that Spell Ball at Voldemort. Harry felt ice run down his spine; had he used Snape's magic to cast that spell instead of his own? And worse: had Snape known that that was going to happen?

"You didn't know, did you?" came from across the desk. Harry pulled his thoughts together and shook his head.

"Tell me how this could happen?" he asked breathlessly.

"You'd better tell me what you did to make it happen," Pomfrey said giving him an accusing look.

"I can't, I promised not to tell," Harry whinged.

Pomfrey pursed her lips and said, "Yes, that's exactly what Mr. Thomas said." Harry could only give her a shrug as a response.

"Mr. Potter, can you at least tell me if you are the one who Marked Professor Snape? You have my oath I will not tell anyone," she asked after a long pause. Harry gave a single nod.

"I see. Then I think I can tell you what happened," she said, shocking Harry.

"You used the professor in some Dark power ritual, to kill the Dark Lord, most probably. Am I right?" she said sharply. Harry again nodded; that was it exactly.

"How did you know?" Harry asked.

After her sharp words and even sharper look, she suddenly deflated. "Severus will most probably never talk to me again, but as he's dying I don't suppose it'll make much difference if I tell you," she said in a sigh. She sat forward in her chair and continued, "I know because I've seen this before. The loss of Severus' magic I mean, not the pneumonia," she added.

 _'Six times'_ , Harry remembered. _Six times._

"What?" Pomfrey sounded shocked. "How do _you_ know that?"

Harry was startled and then realized he'd voiced his thought out loud. _Well, in for a penny..._ "Professor Snape told me," Harry confessed.

"I see," Pomfrey said, leaving a long silence in the wake of her comment.

Snape had lost his magic because they'd done the ritual. Snape had done such rituals six times before and had had his magic after that, hadn't he? But Harry remembered hearing - in class or from Hermione - that once a wizard lost his magic it couldn't come back.

"So, if Professor Snape," - _nice save, thought of his title just in time_ \- "has lost his magic before and it came back, it should come back now, shouldn't it?" Harry asked, needing that to be true, needing Snape not to die without his magic in a sterile white Muggle hospital; the man didn't deserve such an insult, for all his nasty attitude.

Madam Pomfrey sighed again and said in a defeated tone, "For even a person who has the ability to grow back his magic, it takes time, time Severus simply doesn't have. At the moment his body is fighting to stay alive and it has no energy left to recharge his magic."

 _Time? Magic growing? Dying! Disease? Time!_ All of a sudden Harry's head started spinning with questions and magical theories and death and Snape and...

He stood up so fast the metal chair legs screeched across the floor behind him. "Look," he started, leaning on both arms on the edge of the desk. "I'm no good at this sort of thing. I want you to tell all this again to Hermione; she's got the smarts to understand this _and_ she stands a much better chance of thinking of something." He stood up and lifted his chin. "Because I'm not going to let Snape die without a fight. And that's a promise."

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Getting Hermione in was the best thing he'd ever done, Harry realized very quickly. Because she had been at the ritual and she had the right savvy and background knowledge - from having researched the ritual and from just being Hermione - she could ask better questions and better interpret the answers.

After she and Pomfrey had been speaking incomprehensibly for over half an hour - some terms Harry recognized from Arithmancy class, some from Potions and some from Charms - Hermione finally deigned to clue him in.

It seemed that a normal wizard had his magic all the time. When he used magic, he wasn't actually using his magic, but more the energy of his body. His magic would stay the same but he would be tired. And if he used a lot of magic, he'd be very tired. It was even possible to use so much magic that the wizard simply died of exhaustion. That was the usual situation.

There were ways to take away a wizard's magic, leaving him permanently weaker in magical ability. These ways were all Dark and pretty much all forbidden. They were also incredibly difficult and took a lot of energy, as the magic itself was very tightly bound to the wizard. And, apart from weakening the wizard a little, it wasn't very profitable for the one taking the magic, since it would just evaporate when leaving its owner. So these kinds of spells were seldom used; certainly Hermione had not come across a case in the last 300 years in her research into the origins of magic.

Hermione then proceeded to tell him of the much more rare cases of wizards whose magic was fundamentally different. These wizards could (be made to) donate their magical ability and then grow it back inside themselves. She did add that the existence of such wizards was mentioned as merely a legend in her books and so she had not continued reading in that direction. She now suspected that Snape was one of those wizards.

At this point Harry started to become exasperated that they were doing nothing to help the man; they really didn't have time for research.

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Harry was standing by the side of Snape's bed, looking down at the mask-covered pale face, Snape still dead to the world. He was standing there with his hand out as if frozen in mid-action of reaching to take Snape's hand. At the same time he felt the desire to take the hand, he also felt it wasn't his right. The indecision froze his pose as if in a deadlock.

Hermione had left some hours ago in a huff - Harry's fault for losing his patience; he had never been good at long explications - but about half an hour after she'd gone, Dean had passed him a note from her that said she was researching the problem. Harry found himself immensely grateful to his oldest female friend.

He was startled out of his thoughts as he heard Snape's breathing become irregular and the man's body started to spasm, as a coughing fit hit and was hindered by the mask over the Potions Master's face. Behind him, Harry heard the door open and he stepped aside as Madam Pomfrey rushed in and took his place. He kept quiet as he saw her perform the same Lung Clearing Spell, "Videlicet Pulmo Obduco," he had witnessed a dozen times now. After the Spell ended, Snape - still insensate - settled down and the Muggle machine that had started beeping like mad throughout Snape's ordeal settled back to its steady beeping.

Harry checked his watch as he saw Pomfrey move over to the foot of the bed, unhook the patient chart from it and scribble on the Muggle paper, using a Muggle ballpoint pen, after unclipping the pen from the metal chart base. Again Harry noted that the interval between coughing bouts had grown shorter by another minute and a half. He looked over at Pomfrey, who caught his gaze. _Not good._

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When Hermione came back some hours later - at nearly 10 pm - and laid out to them what she saw as the only option, they had another row with Madam Pomfrey. But in the end both Harry and Hermione insisted that this was a choice to be made by those who would be taking part and by them alone. Madam Pomfrey had then pointed out that Snape would be participating too and what about his right to choose?

To this Harry could think of nothing to say, save perhaps that he was not willing to let Snape go, but as he couldn't even explain to himself why he felt like that, he could hardly use it as an argument.

Hermione said that since they could not ask the professor, they should assume he'd want to live and that the suggested ritual would only take a small percentage of each participant's magic, nothing more.

Harry furthermore said - and meant it - that if no-one showed up for this - which he doubted - he would do it himself, even if it meant the loss of most of his own magical ability. They owed the man. _He_ owed the man.

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And so Hermione sent out numerous owls that night and pretty much the entire DA showed up at 9 am the next day, ready at least to listen to the plan. Only three people left after Hermione's explanation. Harry couldn't really blame them; the plan did call for each and every participant to lose up to five percent of their magical ability permanently. Setting the limit of five percent was the compromise they'd had to make with Madam Pomfrey; she absolutely refused access to Snape if they planned to go higher, and from Hermione's calculations, up to five percent loss was not really significant in people of their age, as their magic would be growing for another decade and it _would_ be enough to make the difference for Snape. Hermione could even produce some statistics that such low losses did 'grow back' in adolescents, which seemed to give Pomfrey some peace of mind, at least.

Anyway, most of the DA agreed to take part and the ritual itself was no more difficult than learning another chant and standing hand-in-hand chanting for an hour every day for as long as it took.

So every day, starting from that day, the DA gathered at 10 am, linked their hands forming a large circle of people that looped around the room and into the hallway - Harry and Pomfrey set up an authorized invisibility curtain to prevent them from being seen by Muggles; a standard protocol at Bethlem it seemed - with Harry standing on one side of Snape's bed and Hermione on the other, both with their wand points touching the only parts of the man that were exposed to the air except his face: his hands.

That first day, the chant and the power that was generated made Harry feel oddly drunk as it passed through him into Snape. It was halfway through that he suddenly got the irresistible urge to move the wand up and he did so, gliding the point up the potions-stained hand, up the wrist, catching the edge of the white hospital pyjama sleeve, sweeping it up with the movement and uncovering the very edge of the Mark. Just as the wand touched the Mark, Harry could feel an obstruction to the flow of magic - an obstruction he hadn't even realized had been there - give way and suddenly the magic flowed a lot faster. Madam Pomfrey, who was carefully monitoring the loss of magic on the group with some very complicated sounding monitoring Spells that kept updating a piece of parchment that she consulted, called a halt to the ritual quite soon after that.

That first day had proved to be a success; after the others left, Harry and Hermione stayed to look over the results with the School Nurse. Harry elected to stand by the bed and look at Snape, who looked just a little bit better to Harry's untrained eyes, while he let the ladies figure out the hard stuff so he could hear the short version later.

This time Harry did feel he had a right to take the unconscious man's hand and he did so after pulling up a chair. Snape lay so still and was so pale, Harry couldn't help but feel, well, he wasn't quite sure what he felt. _Sympathy? Regret? Pity?_ No, the Snape Harry knew would never accept anyone's pity, so it wouldn't wise even to think that.

But 'regret', yes, Harry felt that keenly. Regret that the man had had to go through the ritual that had stripped him of his magic. Regret that Snape, as thanks for his invaluable help, had then had to go through a grueling trial. It was then that Harry realized the man would have been without his magic at the trial; the thought horrified him. As did the knowledge that the loss of magic had happened to the Potions Master seven times now. A sudden surge of protectiveness crashed over Harry and he reaffirmed again that it would never happen again. He swore it on his deepest magic.

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It took ten days. Ten days of daily magic _transfusions_ , as Hermione called them, to get Snape out of danger. And all it cost them was about three percent of their magic, some of which grew back in Harry and Hermione in the next five days. Later Harry heard that pretty much all of it had grown back in the others by the time Madam Pomfrey examined them when they all came back to school.

Harry was the only one who spent the rest of each day at his former teacher's bedside. He couldn't explain why, but he just felt comfortable there, even felt needed in an inexplicable way. Madam Pomfrey was around for the first few days, but once the Lung Clearing Spell was no longer necessary she left to go back to Hogwarts; after all, school was still in session.

The trio had been staying at #12 Grimmauld Place, but after the ten days were over Hermione decided she wanted to go back to school properly and not hop back and forth as he had been doing, so she could try and catch up on the year's lessons. Ron openly - and Harry in his thoughts only - called her a fool and they had an emotional parting, leaving the two boys alone in the Dark house. And as Harry spent his days at the hospital - surprisingly really enjoying the quiet - Ron seemed to have fun enough exploring Muggle London on his own, telling Harry all about it in the evenings. And Harry was not short on news from Hermione because she wrote every day, pages of happiness that she was finally back in school, doing her favourite thing: learning.

All in all Harry felt like this was the best time he had ever had. The only thing that marred it was that Snape still hadn't come out of his stupor, making Harry realize he was actually looking forward to a proper old-style tongue-lashing from the cantankerous old Dungeon Bat.

Harry lowered his book and looked over at the peaceful sallow face with its beak-nose framed by the now not so greasy jet black hair. _Well okay, maybe not 'old'._

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In all the time that Harry spent sitting by his former teacher's bedside, only two visitors came to see the Potions Master. The first was Miss Dunsmore on the Tuesday after the trial.

It was just after Harry had finished watching Madam Pomfrey feed a still insensate Snape a bowl of bland looking porridge she'd spiked earlier with at least three different potions and Harry had finished his own brought-in lunch of sandwiches, and the place had once again gone quiet, that Miss Dunsmore quietly opened the door to the sick room.

Harry automatically put the bookmark in the spot he'd been reading, closed the book, put it to one side and got up from his chair. Obviously distracted by his movement, the witch moved her gaze from the bed to Harry and after a moment of surprise, she smiled at him.

"Hallo Harry, fancy meeting you here!" she stage-whispered smilingly and walked over to join him on that side of the room. She took the other chair that, after having been placed out of the way had ended up next to 'his' chair. Harry sat down as well, his mind still busy trying to decide if he was feeling that his space had been invaded. In the end he decided to wait to see what she did next before judging the situation.

After a few minutes of silence - during which Harry was first relieved to see Miss Dunsmore had her eyes on Snape's pale face the whole time and not his own, but then he started to realize she might really be interested in Snape and that thought made Harry oddly uncomfortable - she suddenly sat forward in her chair, placing her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands in thought. Then, just as suddenly, she turned her head around, making her pose twist but not lose shape, as she said, "Did you ever serve detentions with Snape?"

Harry was so startled by the unexpected question he ended up giving a brutally honest answer: "Yes, all the time."

She nodded sagely, "Yes, he always was really good at dishing it out, wasn't he? Tell me, which kind did you get most, the cauldron cleaning or the cutting of Stink Snails?" she asked, but before he could answer she continued, musing, "He always gave me Stink Snails. Disgusting things." She turned back to him and asked, "Tell me, did he ever talk to you when you had detention?" And again she continued speaking before Harry could answer 'no', this time keeping her head turned in his direction, "He did to me. Or at me, I should say, because I never responded. And for the longest time I didn't understand a word he told me, but by my third year I started to get a glimmer."

She shifted in her chair so the strain of the odd pose was let up and she could look at Harry with more ease. And from that moment on she kept her eyes firmly on him, as though trying to impress him with something. At that moment all it did was make him nervous, but as she spoke, that feeling went away.

"You see, I was a Ravenclaw and I had had a sister who had been a Ravenclaw. She was a good five years older than me and we didn't have all that much in common, and by the time I went to Hogwarts the first year, she had already dropped out to marry a wealthy pure-blood. After she'd obviously married for money, I wanted nothing more to do with her, but my parents were delighted.

"It wasn't until my sister got ill and died while I was in third year, combined with the stories that Snape kept telling, that I figured out what had happened. My sister was sold to this pure-blood creep by my parents, also pure-bloods, and when she wouldn't do as he wanted he had her killed. And Snape's stories insinuated that my parents were getting ready to marry me off to another wealthy pure-blood.

"Once I understood that Snape meant to warn me, but couldn't do so openly because of the fact that I wasn't a Slytherin, I took his warning to heart. Using some more of his veiled information, I left Hogwarts and found some counsel and had myself declared a grown up, independent of my family and therefore not subject to any marriage arrangements they were making.

"In short, I got out. And it was Snape who helped me do it." She paused take a breath. "And that is why I urged my boss to take his case, because guilty or innocent, I owed him and I'll always be thankful he saved my life." With that she looked over at the still figure on the bed, taking a long look.

She turned back to Harry, who had opened his mouth a couple of times during her speech but who could not think of anything worthwhile to say. _Snape actually helped a student that wasn't a Slytherin? Who'd have thought it?_ Certainly not Harry, as late as last week. But today he believed it. Today he knew to what lengths Snape had been willing to go to rid the world of Voldemort.

"I'm telling you this," Miss Dunsmore continued, her eyes again boring into his, "because I wanted someone to know, so it would not be forgotten. I know Snape is not a nice man, but he's a good man, and that is much more important in the end."

With a sigh she stood up, rearranged her outer cloak to hang down properly and said, "The office will forward any paperwork here, if that's okay. The official verdict will most probably arrive in a day or two, but I can tell you now at least it looks like he gets off completely."

Harry nodded at her. _Snape's cleared. Is about time!_

She nodded, turned around and left, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

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The other visitor was the Headmistress, the Sunday after that.

It was well into the afternoon that Harry was startled out of his reading by the unexpected sound of the door opening. For some days now the only people - apart from the morning invasion for the transfusion - had either come in because it was time for feeding or bathing, which had a very strict time schedule which Harry knew by heart by now, or when a magical or Muggle alarm went off with a beeping or a bell ringing inside the room, calling for assistance. Which, incidentally, hadn't happened for some days now.

For the door to open without scheduling or forewarning of any kind had Harry instantly on the alert. He slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped his wand tightly only to let it go again once he saw it was the stern face of his even sterner former Head of House and current Headmistress of Hogwarts: Minerva McGonagall.

"Ooch, Harry, are you still here? I'd heard the students were only here in the mornings. There's nothing wrong, I hope?" the tall Scotswoman said, worry crinkling her forehead under the brim of her pointed hat.

Harry laid aside his book and stepped forward, joining the Headmistress at the foot of Snape's bed.

"Not at all. I was just," he quickly searched for a plausible excuse and then settled on a partial truth, leaving out his unexplainable need to be there, "enjoying the quiet of the place. The doctors and nurses don't seem to mind my being here, and Professor Snape hasn't complained yet either," he added with a hopefully disarming grin.

"Humph, I do suppose that if they don't mind, it's fine. But mind you, stay out of their way at all times. One must not become a pest," McGonagall said primly.

"Yes, Headmistress," Harry said dutifully.

The Head of Hogwarts, after giving Harry another stern look, turned her face to the sleeping man on the bed next.

"Albus told me everything," she said and Harry swallowed, hoping that that was not entirely true; he hoped she didn't know about the ritual at all. "He should have told me about the plan to end his life. And like that, of all ways to do it. But more, I would've liked to help, to lighten the burden. But I know, I do, that that most probably wouldna have worked." Her speech picked up more Scottish brogue with every word she said. And Harry breathed a little easier in light of the subject.

After having seen those memories in Court, he was in no doubt that Snape had not wanted to participate in Dumbledore's death, but as with the ritual, he had done it anyway, because it was necessary. God, how Harry was starting to hate that word: _necessary_. How many horrible things had Snape had to do in the name of that concept? Harry had only had to whip and rape someone and kill another, and it was weighing on his conscience like a ton of bricks.

Maybe that was why he stayed at the hospital all day and by Snape's side: to ease his conscience. _Maybe._

"Will, uh, will Professor Snape be coming back to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, partly to change the subject and partly because he really wanted to know. The very thought of Hogwarts without Snape seemed wrong to him somehow. Much like Hogwarts without Dumbledore, but there was nothing to be done about that, was there?

"You want him to be your teacher again?" McGonagall's tone was downright incredulous and Harry found himself blushing just a bit.

"He was actually a very good DADA teacher. I learned more from him in 6th year than I did in all the other years put together. And that includes Remus' year. Though I did learn a lot there as well," Harry admitted.

"Professor Lupin," the Headmistress corrected him. He merely nodded.

"Yes, I've heard the same said by others. And I must admit that while Severus was Potions Master, no serious accident ever occurred. Horace is a very good teacher and a great socializer, but not nearly as careful in the classroom. We've had five serious injuries this year and seven last year. And there's structural damage to classroom 4. Severus would never have let that happen, for all his disagreeable personality," she said, sounding like a true school administrator.

Harry was surprised for a moment; plenty of incidents had happened in Potions Class, mostly because of Neville. But come to think of it, Snape would react and stop whatever it was even before any of the students involved noticed something was going wrong. The man had eagle eyes in the back of his head and x-ray vision out the front or something and also the reflexes of a cat (or a snake). And Harry, for the life of him, could not remember a single student, in his year or any other, who had sustained a permanent injury in Potions, when Snape taught it. He did remember a 2nd year who had been permanently blinded in one eye, when Harry was in 6th year and Slughorn taught instead of Snape.

"So offer him his job back," Harry suggested. "If he makes the place safer, it's worth it, isn't it?"

The Headmistress gave him a sad look and said, "I dinna think he'll want to come back, Harry. The school-board and Headmaster haven't been kind to him in his employment terms and I'm afraid I said some things after Albus' death I canna take back, I fear."

Harry sighed in exasperation. _Grown-ups. Don't know when to buckle and just apologize._ He quirked his eyebrow at her, the one under the lightning-bolt scar and said, "Then fix it. You are the only one who can."

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	7. Chapter 7

  
  


**Friday, February 1st, 1998, 7:40 am, Sunrise.**

Severus blinked. And then he blinked again when his eyelids were pulled down as if by extreme gravity. This time his eyelids stayed up and he tried to focus. His eyelids threatened to slide down again as the heavy languidness of his whole body suddenly registered. Funny, a moment before he hadn't even known he had a body, now it felt as if he were buried under a pile of thick mattresses and someone else slept on top. His eyes slid closed.

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**8:10 am**

He opened his eyes and it was as if a shock went through him - a magical shock. And with it came memory.

In shocking detail he remembered Albus commanding him to Hogwarts in the dead of night. He remembered being captured and the panic of seeing what those dunderheads had planned for him. Then he remembered agreeing to the ridiculous plan, even rewriting the ritual to give it even half a chance of succeeding.

Then the ritual itself - but he shied his mind away from that quickly - and the horror of finding himself Marked the next day. He had known then that it was all over; he'd never be free now. So when the Aurors came for him the second time, he let himself be taken, hoping it'd be all over quickly. But it wasn't over; he was still here, still breathing.

For a long while he lay there doing just that: breathing, almost wheezing, and trying to come to terms with the fact that he was still alive. Once he'd managed to subdue the almost debilitating feeling of doom, he started to look around.

He quickly concluded he was not at Hogwarts infirmary - wrong smells, wrong ceiling - but he couldn't be at St. Mungo's either - right ceiling, utterly wrong smells - so where was he?

He slowly turned his head left, finding the movement achy if not downright painful, and spied a nightstand piled high with books with their spines turned away from him as if the reader had been sitting on the other side of the nightstand and not on his. The fact that the top one had a paper bookmark stuck about two thirds in underlined the impression that someone had been sitting reading at Severus' bed side for some time.

Severus tried lifting his right arm, aiming to reach over and pick up the book. The movement was a strain on stiff muscles and painful, too, but finally he managed to grab the book and bring it to his face so he could read the title, Dickens: _A Tale of Two Cities_. It was a nicely bound old Muggle version of the tale, the only fact marring it was that its hard cover was laminated with a waxed green cloth instead of a nice supple leather, but still it was rather nice apart fr...

Severus stifled a yelp as the book fell, corner first, hard from his weak fingers onto his chest, flapping its pages as it went. The fall dislodged the bookmark, not losing its place altogether but protruding more than half way from the book. As he moved his head to see where the book had ended up, he saw there was writing on the bookmark-card. Carefully he used his aching arms and hands to gather up the book, slipping a finger in to mark the place and get the bookmark out so he could read it.

It said in Granger's very recognisable, utterly uninspiring but school-girl tidy script:

_H,_

_This one's more of a romance. But it's got lots of other elements too: it's historic and there's travel and politics and even some fighting. I'm recommending it because of its strong plot and great characters. You'll enjoy this one!_

_H._

' _H,_ '? Potter then. The idea that the Brat had spent enough time by his bedside to have accumulated five - no six, Severus counted - books, disturbed Severus more than he was willing to admit.

He carefully put the card back in the book and the book back on the table. And by the time he was finished and his head was once more lying still on the soft pillow, his eyes drooped and he was asleep before he even knew it.

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**10:23 am**

His eyes popped open and he came awake with a shock. He lay still for a moment, trying to discern what could have startled him awake, but heard nothing. He moved his head to the left again, this time seeing a vial of potion standing there, Pneum Animus Potion, a very old Wizarding remedy against stuffed airways - and nothing else; the books were gone. There was a sudden crashing sound from his right.

Sharply he turned his head left, regretting the action immediately as it made his neck ache, his head spin and his stomach churn. But those settled down as soon as his move came to an end, when he saw Potter sitting on a Muggle style metal chair - wearing Wizarding robes over jeans and woollen sweater, hair a mess, glasses just a little crooked on the young face, as always - just looking up from reading the green cloth-covered Dickens book.

Severus followed the boy with his gaze as Potter put the bookmark in the book and the book in his robe's outer pocket while getting up and walking over to the bed. Severus was just about to halt Potter verbally when the Brat stopped advancing and jovially said, "Good morning, Professor."

 _'Good morning', indeed._ Severus harrumphed at that. He then found he needed to swallow before he could make his throat comply and ask, "When?" He had to draw a deeper breath before he could continue, "When will they come for me?" He let out the rest of the breath and tried to keep calm in the face of the answer.

"They, uh? Who, Sir?" the Brat asked, sending a stab of pure anger through Severus. _Can the boy still not talk properly?!_

"The Aurors," Severus wheezed out, upset now at Potter's deliberate obfuscating and his own appalling lack of breath.

A myriad of emotions washed over the child's face before settling on sudden understanding. "No, Sir! There are no Aurors coming; you were acquitted. You are a free man!" Potter exclaimed.

 _'A free man'._ Severus remembered the Red Mark on his arm, the Mark that signified that he wasn't free, would never be free. He gave Potter a long look and was for a short moment maliciously satisfied that he could still wipe happiness off faces with a single look. But then he remembered that the owner of this particular face had a hold over him and he dropped his gaze.

Keeping his gaze down, he could see Potter's legs move away and then come back, his Muggle style shoes squeaking on the Muggle style floor. He looked up at the appearance of an item of furniture on small caster wheels that came with Potter's return: an oddly shaped table that was apparently designed to overhang a bed and be of use to the person in it. A Muggle invention, executed in a standard Muggle style of chrome steel tubing and stark white plastic-coated timber.

Severus struggled to shift higher in the bed so he could sit up as Potter pushed the table in place. When it looked like the Brat was going to attempt to help him sit up, Severus gave him a withering look and the boy mercifully backed off.

It took almost more energy than he had, but Severus managed to sit up enough that he could see what was on the top of the table: a mahogany wooden box, some papers - parchments mostly - and a Muggle bottle with an odd spout - to facilitate drinking while lying down no doubt - made of some ghastly orange plastic. Potter grabbed the bottle and said, "Some water, Professor?"

Severus felt he could kill for some water. "Not from that," he said. Potter gave him an infuriatingly indulgent look before putting the bottle back down and going to the other table in the room and pouring some water from a pitcher into a real glass. He came right back and Severus found his arms shaking as he raised them to take the glass. Anger and shame went through him as the Brat had to help him hold the glass and slowly tip it so he could drink.

The water was as soothing as the choicest balm on his throat and insides: cool and refreshing. And it wasn't until every last drop was gone that he realized he'd closed his eyes in pleasure while being helped by an enemy. His eyes shot open and the glass nearly fell as he shied away from the boy.

Severus started to calm as Potter retreated with the glass, an unreadable look on the young face. _Yes, stay away from me, it's safer. For us both,_ he thought.

Potter set the glass down on the other table and then returned, stopping, to Severus' relief, several feet away from the bed. The boy spoke in a steady and possibly overly polite voice, "I've kept your wand safe for you. It's in the box along with the other items that we found in your clothing."

Severus bristled at hearing they'd searched his clothing, but kept silent.

The boy stepped forward and continued, "If I may, I can open the box and hand you the contents."

Severus saw Potter recoil at the look he must have given the boy at the thought of letting the impudent Brat touch his things.

Potter stepped a step backwards and said, "Or not, of course," while wringing his own hands together in some sort of nervous gesture that Severus had no patience with.

He looked over what was the table. The papers he'd read without Potter there, for they looked official and were likely to contain nothing but bad news. The box he wanted to open as soon as possible; he could feel that his magic was only just strong enough to stand his holding his own wand once more, even if actual spell casting was still out of the question. He reached out a shaking hand and tried to grasp the edge of the box-lid. It slipped right from under his powerless fingers.

"I can open the box, if you'd like," Potter's voice ventured forth. _Ever the Gryffindor, blithely go where Angels fear to tread,_ Severus thought and gave the boy a look that deliberately had multiple interpretations. The dunderhead apparently interpreted it as consent and stepped closer to the bed - and Severus - and deftly flipped the lid open, revealing the contents to Severus.

With a wave of his hand he dismissed the boy - both from his sight and from his mind - and concentrated on retrieving his wand. As he ran his index finger along the ebony length, it gave off an almost infinitesimal vibration of friendly magic, as if it recognized him as an old friend. And that indeed it was to him.

Letting his middle finger join in the reunion, enjoying the ever stronger growing vibration, he stroked the wand while it lay in the box, closing his eyes to deepen the pleasure.

"Ahem, Sir."

The words startled Severus so much he'd grasped the wand and nearly knocked over the box in getting it out, rocking the table violently, as he pointed the wand at the source of the sound, the wand point quivering with tension.

"Hold on! Don't shoot! I didn't mean to startle you!" Potter yelped, holding an empty hand out, palm forward, while he used the other to help him feel where he went as he backed away from Severus, whose hand and body were shacking like a leaf.

As Severus realized the boy's hands were empty, he slowly lowered his wand and slumped back into the pillow that kept him sitting up. Potter came out of his defensive pose and had the audacity to come forward again, but mercifully stopped when Severus gave him a halting look. Severus lay quite still, trying to get his breathing and heart rate under control while clinging to his wand so hard, his entire arm hurt.

"I just wanted to say, Sir," Potter said, "that I'm glad you were cleared. And to thank you again for helping us kill the Dark Whatsit. And also to give you some information," he continued, then gestured at the room broadly. "You are in an annex of St. Mungo's, known as Ward 7 and it's February first today and," he consulted a pocket watch that sat in a small pocket at waist height in the boy's robes, "it's nearly 12:30.

"Madam Pomfrey said to tell you," the boy continued on, "that she's had to return to school, but that she would expect you to 'further convalesce in Hogwarts' infirmary as soon as you are able to travel'." Potter gave Severus a grave look - which looked ludicrous on one so young - and added, "Her words, not mine."

Severus nodded; he had learnt long ago not to quibble with Pomfrey about details; it was a waste of energy. Then Severus waited for whatever else the boy had on his mind and the desire to say it, that so clearly shone in the ridiculous green eyes, to come out. _And the damnable Brat was taking his good time about it too._

"Sir, one last thing," Potter said. _Well, finally!_ Severus thought impatiently.

"I still want that peaceful coexistence. If it is at all possible. Sir," the boy finished, sounding unsure.

 _'Peaceful coexistence'._ The Mark suddenly itched on his arm. _Would that even be possible with this thing between them?_ Severus was more than just unsure; he was highly doubting it. _But. But if it were possible, however remotely, would it not be better than animosity?_

The Mark on his arm would never go away and Potter was certainly not the Dark Lord. But he was not Albus Dumbledore either. Albus, who knew better than to Mark anyone. Albus, who had had his prejudices and had overcome them. Could this boy do that? Would Potter not make use of the Mark? Would Severus be able to stop him if he did? Did Severus even have a choice here?

No, he really didn't, he realized.

"Peaceful coexistence it is," Severus declared. He exhaled and found himself sinking a little deeper into the bedding.

"Thank you," Potter said, turned around and took the few steps to the door. After opening it and taking a step through the doorway he turned around and said, "Get well soon, Sir. I'll see you in school next year." With that he went, closing the door behind him with a click.

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Severus lay still for quite some time, just holding his wand to his chest, before he felt anywhere near up to tackling the contents of the box and the letters. He struggled to sit up again as his 'rest' had made him slip flatter into the bed.

He carefully laid the wand on the edge of the table, within easy reach at all times, letting it rest against the upturned sides of the table that were clearly designed to prevent things from rolling or sliding off the hard plastic surface. For once Severus was glad of a Muggle invention.

With a shaking hand he first retrieved the letter with the crest of the Ministry of Magic on the front. He broke the seal on the back and unfolded the missive. He quickly scanned the letter and picked out the words _exonerated_ and _charges dismissed_ from the over-officious Ministry language. Then he read the text properly and found he'd been exonerated of blame in the Headmaster's death - which in turn had been declared a suicide - and that the charge of being a Death Eater had been dropped as proof had been delivered to the court that he did not bear the Dark Mark and therefore there was insufficient evidence to support the charge. The text made no mention of the Mark Severus currently bore; it was possible that MoM was not aware of it. If so, that would be the better situation, for Potter at least.

But even if the charge of being a Death Eater was not truly eliminated - it could always be refiled once other proof came to light - Severus started to feel he was not in immediate danger of public condemnation at the present moment, and he cautiously let out a sigh of relief.

The next letter he opened bore the Hogwarts Crest and was quite thick. When he broke the seal, out came three pieces of parchment. The first was marked with Minerva's own family crest and started _'Dear Severus.'_ He decided to read that one first.

_'Dear Severus,_

_My joy at finding Albus' trust in you was not misplaced is more than I can ever express. So also is the sadness in knowing he believed he couldn't trust me enough to reveal to me this knowledge until very recently. This lack of knowing made me say some things to you and about you that were very wrong indeed and for which I now ask sincerely for forgiveness. I do hope you can forgive me._

_There is more that requires forgiving but that I, at least, am not guilty of. But while I cannot undo my former injustice towards you, I can undo some of the damage done by my predecessor. It is the matter of terms of your employment._

_I do realize that you may not wish to return to Hogwarts ever again, but should you want to, and I sincerely hope you do, I can guarantee your continued employment in either the function of Potions Master or Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, or any combination of those you'd prefer._

_Also I can promise a salary that more befits your training, qualifications and expertise. Furthermore I can guarantee that a suitable remuneration will be awarded for any of the extracurricular services you're asked to do for the infirmary and others. And I personally guarantee that your work is strictly your own._

_I must be honest and admit that I need you to come back to Hogwarts as Potions teacher for at least the rest of this school year. I know I have no right to expect favours, but Professor Slughorh has left us quite suddenly and I have thirteen 7th years who will not get the help they need to pass their NEWTs. I may have misjudged your intentions in the past but I can never misjudge your loyalty to the NEWT level Potions class; in the past fourteen years I've seen you work hard to have every person who entered NEWT level pass it, and I hope and pray you are willing to do it once more for this year's class._

_If you deign to come, I will take any terms you'd care to name. Hogwarts and I owe you at least that much._

_Yours sincerely, Minerva_

Not quite knowing what to think about the Headmistress' emotional letter, Severus quickly looked at the next sheet. It bore the Hogwarts crest with the full titles of the Headmistress printed right under the colourful emblem. It was officially signed and a large red wax seal was set over two red ribbon ends; a true sign of officialdom.

It read,

_Hogwarts, January 28, 1998._

_This document officiates the employment of Severus Tobias Snape, Potions Master and Master of the Dark Arts, at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, located in Scotland, UK._

_The salary shall be no less than G5,000 per annum. The particulars of the employment shall be established at a later date. No untoward restriction shall apply._

_Signed: Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_

Severus' mind boggled. _The old cat was keeping to her word; that was three times what he had earned before!_

He had to put the papers down before they'd slip out of his quickly numbing fingers. _He was to have a choice of teaching subject: Potions or DADA or even both! It was utterly unbelievable!_

Just to distract himself from the dream these letters were weaving, he took a look at the last piece of parchment and found it to be a list of potions that needed restocking, written in Pomfrey's clipped script. It said _'URGENT! (but not until AFTER your convalescence is complete)!'_ at the top.

 _Well, some people never change,_ he thought and then started laughing at the mundane nature of the request list that followed. And then he just couldn't stop.

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After Severus had suffered the indignities of lunch and he was again left alone, he continued perusing the contents of the table. There were three envelopes left, only one of which was marked with the telltale signs of having been brought in by owl post - little pit marks that sharp claws and beaks had caused while securely gripping the soft parchment - the two others were in pristine condition. All three bore his name as addressee and Severus recognized the Know-it-all's handwriting on one of them. _That one last, then_ , Severus thought, _it's bound to bore me enough to be able to sleep._

He opened the owl-posted letter first and read,

_to: Professor Snape, PM, 23 January 1998_

_Mr. Snape,_

_After noticing your magnificent debut in the world of Potion-making at the presentation of the results of your Mastery some years back, and after attempting numerous times to open a line of communication with you, we had all but given up on ever getting to speak with a man of your talent in Potions. All the more as it seemed soon after gaining your Mastery, your productivity had come to a complete stand still, leading us to believe your interest in the subject had all but disappeared._

_It wasn't until very recently that we found that we were in error; young Miss Granger assured us you were indeed still interest in Potion-making and we have, at her urging, checked the validity of Miss Granger's claim to this with the current Head of Hogwarts, who assured us you are indeed free to pursue Potion-making._

_For many years we have hoped that a man with your capabilities and qualifications might consider joining our humble Apothecary Supplies and Potions firm. Indeed, to that end we've sent many a missive to Hogwarts in the past. The fact that we've been rebuffed every year so far will not stop us from trying._

_Our talk with Miss Granger and our subsequent contact with Headmistress McGonagall has left us feeling hopeful again. And we would, wholeheartedly, offer you our facilities and supplies in the hopes of gaining licences to any Potions you'd care to invent, all according to the rules and regulations set out by the Potions Board._

_We will consider taking on any and all propositions on Potions research you are interested in. Please let us know,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Jarvis Lemongrass & Geoffrey Tooksbury, Directors, Artemisia, Apothecary Supplies and Ready Made Potions_

Severus sat down the missive. That Albus had rebuffed these gentlemen's letters for years did not surprise him. What did was their persistence and foolish generosity - they were giving him carte blanche in his choice of using their supplies, for Merlin's sake - and the parts both Granger and McGonagall had apparently played in the proceedings.

These thoughts prompted him to open Granger's letter next; maybe it would shed some light.

_01-23-98_

_Dear Professor,_

_This is just a quick note to let you know that I'm afraid I've overstepped some boundary of privacy and to give you a heads-up on some mail you might receive._

_I'm sorry to say that, at one of the parties held to celebrate our victory over the Dark Forces, I underestimated the potency of the punch that was being served. You see, it was quite a sedate affair, as parties go, and it appeared as though no alcohol was served at all, just a selection of delicious punches._

_Anyway, I had a little more than intended and I talked a little more than intended. I remember talking to quite a few people about the Spectatis Auras, because I had just researched it a little more earlier that day and was quite impressed with the no-frills recipe that you gave me to make it from, back then. And, of course, I realized you simplified it to such a level that it was possible for a 7th year student to brew it, without it diminishing the effect in any way. I was, and still am, impressed._

_I didn't realize my error in praising the potion so thoroughly until Mr. Lemongrass (from Artimisia Supplies) started grilling me about you personally. I hope I managed to refer him to the Headmistress as soon as I realized his interest had gone beyond the potion itself, but I may have made some personal comments._

_I hope I've not caused you any trouble, I apologize if I did._

_I also hope to see you healthy and back in school again soon,_

_Hermione Granger_

Severus dropped the note on the table. _Foolish Gryffindors,_ he thought. _'Get well soon, Sir. I'll see you in school next year.'_ The words came drifting back, along with the memory of those emerald green eyes.

Severus cast the thought away and opened the last envelope. It contained a hand-drawn greeting card with _'thank you'_ in artfully drawn cursive lettering with intricate Celtic knotwork around the rim, featuring stars and planets, an unusual subject for Celtic knotwork.

Severus opened the card and found the inside strewn with signatures, but no other message than the one on the front. _'Thank you,'_ from what looked like all the children that had been present at the ritual. Severus felt his hands grow cold and he quickly put the card back into the envelope and the envelope into the box.

 _Would they keep their promise and keep it all inside? Or would one, or more, or all come to him one day to exact payment for continued silence?_ For a moment he deeply regretted not letting them take that Unforgivable vow, but then he remembered why he hadn't; the Vows he himself had taken had torn him apart, were still tearing at him; no youngster should be put in that position.

With the card they had said 'thank you', hopefully they meant it. With that thought he retrieved the envelope again, his sensitive fingertips brushing a familiar object in the box. He reached in and grabbed it: the talisman. He laid the envelope on his chest - its slight weight preventing it from sliding down - and retrieved his wand.

He carefully tapped the thick bronze amulet around its rim until he'd come full circle and the thing split open like a locket. He opened it wider and looked at the single picture inside. It was a miniature painting of an ancient wizard with a white flowing beard and wire-rimmed reading specs sitting at the end of his nose. The man's head, with eyes closed and mouth open, lay back against the head back of his comfy chair and his arms were crossed on his chest as a near silent snoring came from the tiny figure.

Severus carefully closed the talisman, gathered it, the envelope with the thank you card and the wand close to his chest and lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

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	8. Epilogue

  
  


**Epilogue  
** Sunday, April 16th, 2017, just before 11 am.

Harry yawned as he rolled over in the bed, only partially awake. His right hand, of its own accord, sneaked out to reach its owner's husband, the person who habitually slept on the left side of the sturdy four-poster bed. When the sleepy hand only encountered cold sheets, Harry's still drowsy brain was jogged into wakefulness. Disappointment lanced through him as he propped himself up on his left elbow so he could survey the entire left side of the bed. It was indeed empty. And the temperature of the sheets indicated it had been vacant for a while.

Harry quickly rolled back over to his right side and, with an almost angry gesture, he threw off the bedding and sat up as he swung his legs out over the bed. He sat still for a moment, gathering his thoughts and emotions. It wasn't unusual for Severus to be up very early, but that was on weekdays. It was Sunday, and on Sundays they had what Harry privately called their 'Cuddle Morning'. The fact that it had taken years for his stoic Potions Master to unwind enough to let Harry just cuddle him for no other reason than that it was pleasant, made their established Cuddle Morning a Most Precious Thing, in Harry's book. To have to miss out on it this Easter Sunday more than disappointed Harry.

It wasn't unusual for Severus to be absent from their bed in the middle of the night. Harry was long since used to the fact that his husband sometimes just needed to be alone, and Harry prided himself on knowing when to give the proud man his space and when not. But always Severus came back to the bed before the sheets could get as cold as they had become that morning.

So the only thing Harry could think of was that something was up. But after so many years of sharing their lives, no matter how odd the beginning had been, Harry couldn't find a direct cause for any problem Severus might have in his own behaviour, nor in something as innocuous as today's date (April 16th) nor could he find significance in the Muggle holiday of Easter.

As he toed his chilling bare feet into his baby blue woolly slippers - the winter chill was still holding on to their dungeon rooms with gusto - Harry fished his glasses from his nightstand. Using the artificial daylight from the moving seaside landscape painting that hung on his side of the bed as all the light source he needed, he made his way around the room, gathering up his winter house-robe on the way to the door to the sitting room. Getting dressed could wait; he wanted to find Severus first, just in case something really was wrong.

The sitting room, with its ceiling-high bookcases covering half the walls, impressive and cluttered sideboard, round table just big enough for dinner for two or studying for one - Severus, usually - with two straight-backed chairs, two matching brown leather upholstered recliner chairs, low coffee-cum-games table - now strewn with Harry's papers - in front of a nearly dead fire in the massive fireplace, was completely devoid of life when Harry stepped through the bedroom door. The only sound that could be heard was the soft sizzling of the dying embers, and without a second thought Harry sent a well-aimed Incendio at the hearth. The flame awoke and Harry directed his wand in a silent Wingardium Leviosa to coax one of the dry blocks of wood that sat next to the fireplace into movement. The block landed perfectly on the now roaring fire and would keep the flames fed for a good while.

It wasn't until he'd finished stoking up the fire that he became aware of a peculiar smell. It wasn't an unfamiliar smell; it resembled the sour smell of citrus fruits - grapefruits most likely - being squeezed for juice. And by the pervasive quality of the smell, it must be a shipload's worth of grapefruits!

As the smell persisted, Harry's nose wrinkled; he had never been a fan of grapefruits; he was more the satsuma type - small and sweet. Then he remembered what else smelled like freshly squeezed grapefruits, though it actually contained none: Cold Ease Potion and Fever Reduction Potion. By the smell, it must be at least three big cauldrons full that Severus was brewing, for the smell to reach the sitting room.

Well, that explained where the errant Potions Master had gone, if not why. It was very unusual for Severus to brew large quantities of anything just out of the blue; he always scheduled such things well in advance. Well, there was no better way than to go and find out.

Harry swiftly tied his house-robe, knowing that the hallway to the lab was draughty; he opened the 'secret' door that was located behind the shallowest of the bookcases and after closing it behind him with a snick he strode down the stone hallway that was lined with shelves bearing various ingredients in jars and bags and whatnots, where the walls weren't taken up with doors. Three doors in all: to the left to a cold room with a freezing extension in the back for ingredients, to the right to a library and storage room for all kinds of potion-making paraphernalia, and straight ahead a heavy door led to the brewing lab, where Harry could tell most definitely, as he got closer, the citrusy smell originated from.

As he opened the door he realized he'd entered a war zone: every single burner that Harry knew the lab held had been set out on both of the brewing tables that lined the galley-style Potions Lab. Each burner had a size 6 or bigger cauldron sitting on it, each of which was bubbling like mad and was blowing bubbles and spreading the same sour smell.

Harry quickly counted the cauldrons - seven on the right, nine on the left - as he witnessed his husband moving from cauldron to cauldron, adding ingredients from a pewter bowl, wearing a leather apron over his winter housecoat and his green nightshirt, with his hairy legs sticking out from under and on his big feet the red-brown fox-eared house slippers Harry had gotten him two Christmases ago.

The sight made Harry's mouth itch to break out in a smile and he raised his hand to discreetly cover it. Just at that moment, his husband looked up and the man's mouth and eyes changed from clinical concentration to what Harry had come to know as warmly welcoming, though anyone else might not have noticed the difference.

Harry dropped his hand, openly showing his delight at seeing his husband of many years still be happy to see him. The little bubble of worry that had taken hold deep inside his stomach at finding his husband's side of the bed stone cold dissolved in the face of his husband's next words.

"My apologies; a missive from St. Mungo's arrived early this morning requesting aid in battling this year's epidemic of Wizarding Influenza. The disease is quite virulent this year and even St. Mungo's regular brewers are adversely affected," Severus said as he moved a cauldron and hand-measured a dab of fuzzy ingredients from his bowl, readying it to add it to the cauldron now in front of him.

Well, that explained that. But, "Can't 'Mione do some of this?" Harry hedged, now mildly annoyed that this had to happen on their Sunday of all days.

Harry observed the steam coming from the cauldron as it billowed into his husband's face and around his hair, curling some of the shorter strands. He appreciated Severus' graceful hand as it sprinkled the ingredient - dandelion seeds? hydrangea roots? silkworm cocoons? - deftly all around the potion's surface.

"Mrs. Weasley has set up a temporary lab in the Upper Level Potions Classroom and Mr. Weasley is overseeing some of the house-elves preparing ingredients in the Lower," Severus reported. Adding, "I do hope he is refraining from touching any ingredients himself; Merlin knows what could happen," with just the hint of a smile curling his upper lip.

After the many years Harry had spent with his husband and all the adventures and misadventures they and the Weasley couple had gotten each other into and out of, Harry knew Severus' opinion of Ron wasn't quite as bad as all that. But on the other hand, Severus was very demanding of people when potion-making - and usage - was involved.

Harry also knew that Ron knew that his talents were not in the field of Potions, but oddly enough more in organizing capable people and house-elves, into doing what they did best. It had been he who had overseen the day-to-day running of the DA while the three of them had been at Hogwarts so many years ago, because at the time Hermione had been mostly busy researching and Harry had been busy getting ready to battle a mad wizard to the death. Neither Hermione nor himself had realized the part Ron had played: that of big brother to all the DA members, most of whom had been, well, not any younger than the trio, but much less experienced.

So also had Luna. With her endless faith in Harry and her boundless love for all living things, be they moping heroes or hungry thestrals or crotchety Potions Masters, she treated all with the same honest love and respect.

Severus killed the fire under his cauldron just as Harry gave a nod of understanding, and then asked, "Do you need me to help chop?" He knew better than to offer his help with brewing; he knew he could chop for glory like a pro, but he'd never truly gotten the hang of complicated brews, for all of the Half-Blood Prince's help - turned out even in NEWT class, the brews were still classed as 'simple'.

"Not at this time," his husband answered, the lank hair almost hanging in the brew as his head now hung over the cauldron the herbs had gone into, his formidable nose sniffing around, almost touching the now still surface. He lifted his head and took a step back. Then he gestured to the space under the workbench and said, "Addy has been keeping me adequately supplied, and this batch is nearly finished now anyway. All that is left is the last step, then cooling and decanting."

Harry took a step aside so he could look under the workbench. There, as though in miniature, another workbench sat, with Addy - the Potions Elf, as he liked to call himself and Severus let him, who was no higher than Harry's knee and who hadn't grown a fraction of an inch in all the years Harry had known him - arranging the last of the fluffy ingredient in a bowl and handing it to Severus, who took it and moved to a still bubbling cauldron, ready to dole out the fluffy substance. Addy, after waving at Harry and giving him a toothy grin, turned back to his small workbench and started clearing up dirty knives, icky chopping boards and stained mortar-and-pestle sets, the obvious remnants of hours of chopping, dicing and grinding. Harry was so not sorry to have missed all that, even if his gleeful thought made him feel a little guilty for loafing about in bed all morning while others had worked their socks off.

"How much longer?" Harry asked, doing his level best not to make it come out whiny. He realized he'd failed when his husband rolled his eyes at him, before bending over his now still cauldron and doing the same smell test as before. Apparently satisfied with the brew, Severus stepped back, turned towards Harry and said, "No more than another hour."

Harry nodded, if only to himself, as Severus had already turned his attention to the next bubbling cauldron. "If you're sure you don't need me," Harry ventured, and promptly received a response in Severus' thin hand that came out of a cloud of steam and leisurely waved him away. "Then lunch will be served in one hour. Scrambled eggs or omelettes?" he asked, already knowing the answer after so many years of cohabitation, but still giving his husband a choice; after all, Severus didn't take kindly to being called predictable, even if that was exactly what the man was. And Harry had to admit it was indeed one of Severus' more endearing traits; it made Harry feel secure.

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Before getting on with lunch, Harry decided to check on Hermione and Ron. He detoured back to the bedroom and quickly changed from 'let's cuddle' to 'let's get this show on the road', donning dungaree trousers, woolly sweater, and his winter shoes over thick socks and winter underwear. He made extra sure that all items were green or black, for he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he wore his favourite reddish brown sweater with his favourite dark blue trousers and Hermione spotted him again.

It was embarrassing how much fuss Hermione could make over mismatched clothes, and it was perturbing how much Harry let her dictate what he chose to wear. Why, Severus had never even commented - if you didn't count the occasional raised eyebrow at breakfast, which Harry absolutely refused to do - and he was Harry's husband!

Harry quickly left their rooms, hissing Good morning at the snake that dozed in the corner of Ezekiel Slytherin's empty portrait - he must have another hot date with Lucia de Medici at her portrait; hopefully he wouldn't come home poisoned again or they'd never hear the end of it - and quickly set off towards the classrooms.

The first in his path was the Lower Classroom. The door was open, and Harry could hear the sound of chopping and grinding already. He stopped just outside the classroom and waved to Ron, who was busy weighing ingredients on enormous brass scales.

"Oi, mate," Ron chirped, not taking his steadying hand off the scales as he added weights with his other hand. As the redhead stood at the table, he had a House Elf on each side - both wearing Hogwarts towels - one with a sack with dry ingredients in his arms and the other with an empty bowl. Ron carefully balanced the scales before then taking the brass bowl with ingredients off the balance and emptying the ingredients into the House Elf's empty bowl. The House Elf - Dinky or Natty, Harry couldn't be sure - took his bowl to the other side of the room while Ron reset his scales.

At the right side of the room, about seven house-elves - now eight with Dinky joining them - had each taken a student's brewing desk and were busy preparing ingredients, each a different one. One Elf had a huge jar standing next to his work; the large label read Hydrangea Root in Severus' elegant hand. Hah, got it right in one, Harry thought.

"I'm serving lunch in about 45 minutes, you and 'Mione wanna join us?" Harry asked.

Ron first weighted out his scales, before answering, "Nah, ta. We started brewing at least an hour after the Professor, we aren't anywhere near ready for lunch." He emptied out the weighed amount into the waiting Elf's bowl before continuing, "and besides, Mum has already let us know she's not lettin' us weasel out of Sunday lunch, so she's holding lunch for us. You two have your 'lunch' without us," he added with a smile and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Well, okay, that's settled then," Harry said, before making a quarter turn into the direction of the Upper Classroom, totally ignoring the redhead's innuendo. "I'm going to look in on 'Mione anyway, maybe I can help out a little," he said, already starting to move in that direction.

"Oi! You can help by taking her the chopped stuff!" Ron called after him. Harry turned back and looked to where Ron had indicated. A large tray sat there with five three-quarters full jars on it, all equally slimy but with different-coloured ingredients. The jars were unlabeled, but the contents were sufficiently different to even Harry's layman's eyes that a Potions buff like Hermione should have no trouble whatsoever recognizing what was what.

The tray looked heavy and Harry slipped out his wand to cast a Featherweight charm on it. "No magic!" Ron shouted, just in time. Harry gave his best friend an annoyed look as he put his wand away again. He then stepped close to the tray and grabbed hold of the handles securely.

The tray turned out to be lighter than expected, and the jars were low enough that he could easily see where he was going. Nonetheless he got on with getting there; he didn't want to run any risk of breakage or spillage, at all. Hermione's tongue-lashings could really rival his husband's!

With his hands full, Harry was forced to push open the door to the Upper Classroom with his back, thus putting him face forward into, well, 'Hell' really. Just before his glasses fogged up from the steam, he could see that large cauldrons sat on most of the worktables, bubbling away like mad. Each cauldron had a House Elf in attendance, standing on the stools that came with the worktables. The ceiling was invisible because of the steam, which was hanging like cloud cover on a mountain. The place smelled incredibly citrusy, with a persistent undertone of mint, so strong that it made Harry's eyes start to water.

Just as he was considering calling out for help so he could unload his burden, Hermione stepped out of the mist, looking not unlike a fish in the odd goggles she was wearing. She grabbed the tray and said, "Oh good! Supplies!" As she took the weight of the tray, she turned her head aside and called out, "Pinny, Dobby, come and give us a hand, please."

Two small figures came scurrying out of the mist, Dobby, who smiled at Harry and said, "Dobby is very happy to see Master Harry Potter this morning!" Behind him a smaller female Elf nodded her head emphatically in agreement. "I'm happy to see you too, Dobby, Pinny," Harry returned the greeting. It was such a little thing, but it made the Hogwarts house-elves so happy if you mentioned them by name. And so Harry was happy to do it as Dobby and Pinny virtually jumped up and down for joy, but still managed to keep the tray upright between them, before walking off with it.

Harry took off his glasses and wiped them before turning to Hermione and asking, "Uh, do you need my help at all?" He waved his hand around, indicating the chaos around them.

"No, I'm fine," she said as she stepped closer to the open door: the only place where the mist was thin enough so they could actually see each other. She pulled off the goggles and theatrically wiped her brow with the sleeve of one of her pink long-sleeved tops that Harry had seen her wear underneath thick sweaters all winter. Now that he was noticing her appearance, he noted she looked hot and sweaty. And no wonder; the room's atmosphere more resembled a Turkish bath than a classroom.

"Look, are you sure?" he asked again. Then when she didn't reply, he added, "Can't you open a window, or something? It's stifling in here!"

For a moment it was like she hadn't even been listening, but then she seemed to snap out of it. "Can't ventilate; the Cold Ease needs these conditions," she said. She handed the goggles to Harry. "However," she sighed, "these don't seem to work, so I'm going to try a Bubble-head charm next." With that she took out her wand and cast the spell.

Harry had been standing quite close to Hermione and he pondered on the odd sensation he got from being so close as she cast it. But other than the odd feeling, there was no further effect. With the possible exception of Harry's wonder at magic itself, as he saw his other best friend blithely venture into the steam-filled chaos, secure in the effectiveness of her spell. And that was a feeling that to Harry never seemed to get old.

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After gathering all the ingredients for omelettes on toast in the dungeon room's small but practical kitchen, Harry went back to the sitting room to set the table, so he could make and serve the omelettes as soon as Severus walked in.

Their two-person dining table - that with magic could convert to four, but then would cramp the modest sitting room almost uncomfortably - still had the heavy brown velvet tablecloth on it that they habitually put on it after dinner. If it wasn't for the fact that Harry had spotted the empty porridge bowl and spoon with the other dirties, he might have been worried that his husband had, again, skipped breakfast.

Indeed, over the years Severus had been getting better at taking time for meals and breaks, but Harry was always on the lookout for signs of Severus overworking and forgetting to take care of himself. Harry could well understand his husband's behaviour; he had done it himself when he was still fighting Whosit Whatsit. But he'd never taken it as far as Severus did in times of stress.

Well, Harry had made it his mission to make sure Severus took care of himself; after all, Harry got the benefit of his own hard work from this: a happy husband, and all the perks that came with that. Like Cuddle Mornings. And the best lube in the world virtually free, plus practical demonstrations of its effectiveness every day, if either of them wanted them. Hmm.

Harry pulled himself out of his lascivious thoughts and picked up the first item he saw on the table; a worn pouch: made from an old velvet material that once might have been purple. He recognized it immediately. It belonged in Severus' box; the box that Harry had given him some nineteen years ago. The same that now stood open next to it on the table.

Harry gently put the pouch back into the box and then surveyed what else was lying on the table; it was mostly flat paper items. To get a better look but not wanting to disturb anything, Harry slipped into the chair that his husband usually occupied. Now he could see the papers right side up and was not too surprised at what he found.

Harry was not unfamiliar with what Severus kept in his box, but he had never pried for information. Nor was he looking for any now. He just wanted to tidy up the 'mess' so lunch could be served. So he reached out a hand to start gathering the old letters and cards from Dumbledore and Minerva. Then he spotted something he hadn't seen in nineteen years: a square folded card, with Celtic knotwork featuring stars and planets and 'Thank you' on the front.

Harry didn't need to open the card to know that inside was his signature, along with those of all the students present at that infernal ritual. He remembered quite clearly Luna going around getting it signed by everybody. He remembered trying to explain to her that Snape might not want a reminder of that horrible day. He remembered her answering that 'of course he would, silly!' He couldn't convince her otherwise, and in the end he all he could do was cave in to Luna's wish that he give the card to Snape.

And now it turned out the man with whom at that time Harry had only managed to come to a truce, and who now was his husband, had indeed kept this reminder of a Very Bad Day. It humbled and it stunned him. And it made his heart swell with love for a man who had gone through hell and back and had survived. And - as Harry spotted another card on the table, a little space away from the correspondence - he realized - as he read the card, for it was indeed addressed to him - who had found himself still able to give affection to the one that loved him.

The card read:

H, Emergency at St. Mungo's Potions shortage Sorry, will make for it up later S.

'Sorry, will make up for it later.' Why, that was practically a declaration of undying love! Well, from Severus anyway. Harry smiled to himself and slipped the card into his pocket, so he could put it with his collection of other cards that his husband had written him over the years.

He got up and started tidying in earnest. He put the correspondence back into the box, idly noting that the amulet was missing; Sev must be wearing it today, Harry concluded. Ah, that indicated that he wasn't as relaxed as he'd have Harry believe. Harry lifted the still open box and put it in its normal spot on the sideboard. He left it open, since it would only open for the person who had last closed it, and Severus would likely not be happy to find himself locked out of his own box!

oqpodboqpo

Harry was directing a washing-up spell in the kitchen when he heard the dungeon's front door creak.

"There's hot water in the kettle; if you make the tea, I'll have the eggs done in a minute!" He had pitched his voice just loud enough for sitting room occupants to hear him and still not sound as if he was actually yelling; long experience had taught him that the hard way. Not expecting a response, Harry got on with starting the toaster and pouring the whisked raw eggs into the hot pan.

oqpodboqpo

About halfway through lunch, Harry was puzzling over an unusual role-reversal. Usually it was Harry who the faster eater, with his husband often just picking at his food, and only eating properly once he noticed Harry had already finished. But now Severus was digging in, almost leaving Harry the straggler.

Harry swallowed his bite before asking, "Why the hurry?"

Severus halted the movement of the well-laden fork towards his mouth. Harry saw his right eyebrow rise in the Potions Master's best 'you've got to be kidding me,' look before Severus said, "I'm merely making sure that this break does not set the brewing schedule back any significant amount of time."

Harry nearly dropped his own fork. "Brewing schedule? You mean there's more potions to be made today?!"

His husband, while Harry had spoken, had continued eating and now needed a moment to clear his mouth. He gave Harry that same look and said, "St. Mungo's needs at least one more batch of Fever Reduction Potion."

"But!" was all Harry could think to say, the sheer disappointment robbing him of his speech.

While bringing a last forkful of egg to his mouth and snagging the last piece of toast from the tray, his husband stood up from the table and started to turn away. As Harry sat gaping at the turn of events, Severus turned back and leaned forward, invading Harry's space. Harry had to cross his eyes in order to focus on his husband's black orbs - and formidable nose - so close to him.

"If," Severus drawled, using that voice, "If you eat up and help me out in the lab, we can have the brewing finished that much sooner, and we can reclaim our Sunday morning."

Harry couldn't help but grin at that, so he didn't resist the urge. He also didn't resist the impulse to place a little kiss on that nose, thoroughly embarrassing his husband. "All right," he chirped, "lay out the smelly roots and slimy slugs. With an incentive like that, I will chop anything you like!"

-The End -

 


End file.
